HouseIn a few short hours this will be our house.

Whatever it may seem, I am not bragging. Although, I will be honest. It’s a freakin’ cool house. The third story will be my office hideaway. I anticipate many works of great fiction — or teenage angst ridden fantasy more like — to be written in that room. The wrap around porch provides the perfect vantage point to watch my son play in the woods. From our front windows we will gaze at the glowing sky, dream big dreams, and drink massive cups of coffee. The home sits high on a hill, the ideal location to mow down zombies should the apocalypse be upon us. We will need to install bulletproof window coverings to keep them from walking right into the living room, in the event of an attack, however. There are trees to escape to when the world is too much for me. For Sam. For Nathan.

Life is unpredictable. It’s full of WTF moments. It’s built of tacked together hopes and bandaged dreams. Nothing is perfect. Nothing is blissful. Life is mostly a lot of trying something and hoping you tried the right something instead of the other something you could have done instead.

When you are like me, you believe you are covered. The umbrella keeping the rain out, keeps the faith intact as well. We have weathered a few storms the past couple of years. (Literally. Storms. Two hurricanes, a couple blizzards, and a tornado.) Storms that tried to make us hide inside. That wanted to cut us off from resources we should have. That planned to wipe us out entirely.

Now, here we are in Texas again, and the moment to close is near. We didn’t always think this was the best route. We have wondered if this move was beyond our abilities or our comforts. If it was wise.

We wondered the same thing about moving to New York.

I tend to be a bit of a steamroller. I wish I could say that this color on me is one I hate, but that would be a lie. It suits me. It makes waiters quiver and the faint of heart cringe. In these situations, you will more commonly see be barreling toward my goal with little regard for what gets smashed on the way.

For this move, certain circumstances were at play that made my normal way of dealing with change impossible. A close family member was in the hospital. My son had a sinus infection, and is three, so change for him looks like a four-letter word. There were issues with the underwriter on our loan. (A person I have now likened, on multiple occasions, to Professor Delores Umbridge in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.)


I did my best to approach people first with kindness. I used my words, as I always tell my son. I remembered the old saying, “You catch more flies with honey.” And at each sharp turn, my resolve was worn away. Chipped away. Chiseled. By the end I felt a little psychotic. See below visual aide.


So, yeah, it got a little hairy. This is the way of things sometimes. But we persevered. And even thought steamrolling wasn’t the logical approach, I managed. It’s not always easy to see meaning in our hardship. Or to handle our setbacks with grace. At the end of the day, the best you can expect is often, just getting out by the skin of your teeth.

Don’t be discouraged by it. Eventually, it will be over, and you will hold shiny new keys in your hands. (Insert a visual of whatever you struggle with here.) Then you will be about the business of basking. Don’t get hung up on the details. The devil is in those.

* For those of you who follow me on Facebook, we were supposed to close yesterday but were delayed, hence my status indicating we were closing. It’s all good though.

Chapters End

Credit John Maxwell's Writers Refuge

Credit John Maxwell’s Writers Refuge

My relative radio silence for the last few weeks may seem a little odd. No, it’s not that I was sequestered in my writing cave, hunkered over a desk sculpting words like clay. I have not been deathly ill with an exotic disease you can only contract in the Amazon jungle, therefor indicating I was in the Amazon jungle and that’s why I wasn’t writing.

It’s only that we have been preparing for a major life change and so I have been quiet. I have been waiting to share until what I was sharing was less transparent-like.

About a month ago, my husband and I made the decision to move back to Texas. This was a hard fought choice. When we moved to Brooklyn almost two years ago, we were babies with a baby. We had no idea how significant this move would be in our lives.

And we have cherished, sometimes begrudgingly, the chance to live in a city most people only dream of living in. As I said in my “About” page, moving to New York changed my perspective on what kind of writer I was going to be.

It made me a writer.

The challenge of living here, and the bursting creative energy that is New York City, was a force behind the novel I am now revising for publication.

I am thankful to New York City for her help.

Now I have to go. It’s hard to say exactly when we knew the time here was coming to an end, but once we knew we made the move. We’ve always been this way, and I hope that never changes.

Over the next weeks we will be packing our apartment, finalizing details of our move, and waiting in earnest to see the purchase of a new home come through. I will try to share as much of the transition with you as possible.

We want to send out a very heartfelt thanks to our Brooklyn friends. The life we have had up here has worked because you guys found us and we you.

If you look at life like a novel, (and when you are a writer of a novel, everything becomes comparable to the writing process) you see that chapters don’t end without connecting to the next. Backstory, action, characters woven through the narrative, create the overall arc. Nothing is random, and nothing ends. Until the end anyway.

What I’m trying to say — and maybe not saying clearly — is that this is not a goodbye. This is a turning of a page. A chapter that leads to another chapter, and the work I’ve done developing my life in Brooklyn, will not be scrapped for revision.

This move is not the beginning of a new book. It’s the continuation of my family’s story arc.

My husband and I watched Battlestar Galactica for all four seasons. (I must be careful here, because when the BSG comparison floodgates open, with the waters come my longing.) BSG was a show that completed it’s arcs well. It built a meticulous framework, filled it in, roofed it off, and then landscaped it.

What I learned from BSG (besides some new curse words) was simple: everything is connected when telling a story. Every story must be filled with peaks and valley’s, comings and goings, location changes and losses. And in the end, every part of the story matters equally. If it doesn’t, it wouldn’t end up in the final draft or make it through post-production.

I intend on keeping New York a part of my life for years to come. I intend to have to because of my career. And I expect it not to be long before I am visiting. (And crashing on above mentioned friends couch/second bedroom.)

Now on to the wild lands of Texas again!

Pending the signing of a Warranty Deed and funding, my husband and I will once again be homeowners. So I leave you with the wisdom of Stewie Griffon and whatever you are able to glean from it.