Am I Afraid?

For the past six months, I have had an illness—blessedly not contagious—called writer’s block. But just now, as I so begrudgingly drug my butt into the prophetic Writer’s Seat, I realized something.

I don’t have writer’s block.

I am afraid.

How To Find Time To Write

How to find time to write advice tips blogger life

Writers are faced with many challenges. What topic? Word count? Grammatical errors? Should this go on my lifestyle blog or autobiography? What the heck am I going to write about today?

Was my last post more depressing than humorous? 

But the biggest challenge of all is finding time to write, to consult the muse, and tap at that keyboard. Here are some tips of the trade.

Taking A Sick Day {Feel Free To REBLOG}

Sick day blogger blog life lifestyle humor funny

I am taking a sick day, dear readers.

It is shocking—I know—that I, practically a superhero by trade, could possibly get sick. I mean. What is wrong with the universe? What has this world come to?

I have the heart of a T-rex. I am supposed to be invisible.

I Finally Talk About My Writing | VLOGMAS #20

20-vlogmas

The tag line for my blog is “something to read as I work on my next novel,” yet I’ve never spoken of my writing projects, what I really want to do, or what excites me about writing.

Tonight, I blab and gush, and honestly have a fantastic time talking about my writing process and how I study people.

Liebster Award Part 2

Liebster

I have been nominated for the Liebster Award by the lovely bloggers: Beckie from Spotlight and Dani from Crystal Sparkly Dreams.

Turns out, I’ve already accepted this award, almost exactly one year ago.

But I’m not one to let a tiny hiccup like that stop me.

When You Have Nothing To Say

I got nothing

The curser blinks at you.

*blink-blink-blink-blink*

It’s a steady beat. A constant reminder of your lack of creativity. Your tired brain. Your empty train of thought.

You’re me at this very moment. You have writer’s[blogger’s]block.

For a split second, you think you have an idea. A spark!

And then you daydream about lunch, and the spark’s gone.

Bye-bye spark. . .

You May Be A Writer If. . .

There are a lot of wannabe writers out there. But how do you know when the wannabe ends, and the real writer emerges from within you?

I wrote you a simple list. You’re welcome.

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So here you go, a list of ten. You may be a writer if. . .

Worry

I’ve realized something about myself. I worry. As in, a lot.

I don’t know where this came from. I think of myself to be a rather calm, collected, easy going human being. I go with the flow. How is it I became a worrier?

It’s getting to be ridiculous. I worry about not getting a job. I’m worried that if I don’t get a job soon, I’ll turn into one of those stay-at-home losers who leech money from their parents and are useless all their life. Then when I start to get close to what seems like a job, I worry that the hours will be horrible and I won’t have a social life anymore – no wise cracks, please.  I worry that my novel is junk. The plot is cliche. Or my voice is boring.

Timers

I’ve been waiting all day for my phone to cooperate in order to post my latest braided nail tutorial. . . And it’s just not working. I. Need. A. New. Phone.

My phone is turning me practically homicidal.

Anyway. I might have to throw in the towel soon, so that I can get back into revising my novel. It’s been a while since I have. Bad Bekah. So today, we’re going to talk about timers.

Speaking of which, I better start my timer so I’m not being a hypocrite.

Failing My Drivers Test

So many things are happening nowadays. Job interviews and searchings (I just had an interesting job interview, but I’ll leave a cliff hanger and tell you about that later). But the biggest and newest and most horrible thing is driving.

Yes. I’m a late-bloomer. Yes, I’m eighteen and don’t have a license. . . I have my permit though.

Yesterday (was it yesterday? Seems so far away, praise God), was my driving test. . I was scheduled for 10am. Got there early. Went through the line. Was given instructions. My Mom drove the car into the little driveway. And we waited. We were there for thirty minutes before this cranky, worn looking lady wearing a floral shirt tapped on my wind shield, where my permit and appointment time was, seeing I had been there for so long, and went inside. Soon, she was back out, telling me my instructor was MIA or something and she’d take over instead.