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Flexible only applies to me in yoga.

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At Camp Mighty, Maggie told the story of her Life List item to see the sun rise over the Aegean. Once there in Greece, fearlessly about to reach success, she realized that the sun only SET over the Aegean. Her attitude could have been Shitty McGrumpypants, but she chose instead to go with it. It may not have been *exactly* what she wanted, but a slight discrepancy in semantics wasn’t going to derail her enthusiasm. To her, this choice of perspective stood out in her mind as a huge life lesson.

Be rigid only if you want to break.

I am a planner by nature. I have lists for my lists. So when we were told to narrow down our Life List to just five items for 2013, I was all over that shit. I carry them with me everywhere.


Yet only a mere 49 days into 2013, and I’m already finding that my top five goals for 2013 may need some tweaking. Not for any huge, earth-shattering reasons… simply for the reason that situations change. Circumstances shift.

One of the main goals I’m speaking of is the purchase of my first house. Some outside influences have swept into my life and are postponing the house hunt until my footing is steady again. This doesn’t mean it won’t happen for me this year. It just means my projected timeline of early Spring is pretty much out the window unless some miracles of miracles happen.

I can choose to kick and scream about it or I can go with it.

Duh. I know what I have to do, because you know what? The curveballs? They’re good for me. They’re making me grow.

The same way all the curveballs of 2011 brought me to Atlanta and into beginning this journey in the first place, these new plot twists are getting me out of my own comfort zone and testing the mindset of the “new me”.

A shift of plans does not equal failure. It doesn’t mean that I won’t reach my goals. It only means that I’ll get them completed a little differently than anticipated.  I know everything will work out for the best, however curvy my path may become.  And I also feel in my heart that these changes are what is best for me in the long run.

Good things are ahead. 🙂

New York – A Love Letter in Photos.

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New York, I love so much about you.  But it’s not just your big-ticket attractions. What I love most is what’s in the details of you.

It’s standing practically underneath the most famous Christmas tree, and delighting at the little fearless finch on the angel branches.


hello, friend.

It’s finding someone’s wish to become a broadway singer written on a piece of confetti that landed in a planter.

I found in a plant, a wish written on confetti: Diventare una cantane di Musical a Broadway (become a singer in a Broadway musical).

It’s realizing that angels do exist.

Angels exist.

It’s snickering like a 12 year old about Big Balls.

Balls. Big Balls.

1251 6th Ave, Radio City Music Hall

It’s standing high above so much, and feeling so small.

Meet me downtown for a few. Brooklyn.


It’s turning around and going, “Whoa. What bridge is that?!”

Queensboro Bridge view from the Serendipity front door.

Queensboro Bridge view from the Serendipity front door.  East 60th St

It’s falling in love with a perfect reflection in a restaurant door.

Iris Cafe, Brooklyn. Stumptown coffee, in NYC? Yes, please.

Stumptown coffee, in NYC? Yes, please. Iris Cafe, Brooklyn

It is perfection in a slice.

real. New. York. pizza.


It is the timeless and detailed wrought iron entryways…next door to a tourist hot-spot.

wrought iron meets Serendipity

It’s lifting your head into the cold wind and seeing the Empire State Building for the first time.

first sighting of the Empire State Building

It’s not wanting to stop and be THAT tourist, so you wind up with a wonderfully dizzying shot.

as dizzying a picture as the NY experience

It’s spotting the morning-after evidence.

Jan 1, 2013. Morning-after confetti.

Jan 1, 2013.

It’s being determined to eat REAL ramen, the REAL way.

I ate my ramen like a big girl - with chopsticks.

I ate my ramen like a big girl – with chopsticks.

It’s not being above taking a classic NYC shot.

Classic shot with the cabs.

It’s accepting that sometimes your best pictures might be taken with your iPhone.

Best shot I took of Rockefeller Plaza, and it was with my iPhone.

It’s shopping decadence, mixed with vendors, mixed with traffic, mixed with architecture and light.

Shopping. Traffic. Vendors. J.Crew, Soho.

J.Crew, Soho.

It’s about indulgence amidst frenzy.

Bliss, Soho. Best massage I've had in years.

Best massage I’ve had in years. Bliss, Soho.

It’s about wondering why the hell they have these steam stacks in the middle of a street lane and then spotting your favorite building between them.

Steam stacks and Chrysler Building

Chrysler Building.

It’s being alone in a subway car late at night, smiling, knowing that right at this moment you are happy.

Reminiscing on a late-night subway ride

It’s hearing the languages of dozens of countries within one square block.

tourists crowd the mezzanine over the Rock Center ice skating rink

tourists crowd the mezzanine over the Rock Center ice skating rink

It’s knowing that you made the right choice in your New Year’s Eve plans.

Straight ahead? That's where the ball dropped.

Straight ahead? That’s where the ball dropped. I was running a 5K instead.

It’s being more entranced by architecture and scope and design than the blue LED-lit Christmas tree.

never forget to look up.

never forget to look up.

It’s greeting a new day from a new place.

Sunrise view, from a couch in Brooklyn

Sunrise view in Brooklyn

It’s the biting wind coming off the water, making your eyes tear and your nose run, yet you take the shot because there is just so much right in it.

Brooklyn Bridge Park, Pier 6

Brooklyn Bridge Park, Pier 6

It’s the City of Lights, making bright even the most harsh of barricades.

leftover New Year's Eve barriers

leftover New Year’s Eve barriers

It’s seeing a movie reproduction of a Broadway show in a theater where Broadway shows were once performed.

Ziegfeld Theater

Ziegfeld Theater

It’s respect for putting a modern spin on an old favorite.

Seen from High Line, Brooklyn

High Line, Chelsea

It’s appreciation of scale and balance and whimsy.

High Line, Brooklyn

High Line, Chelsea

New York is just so much to take in. It is too much, yet it is everything. I long for better photographic equipment, so that I could have captured everything even more perfectly. But even then, I’m not sure capturing the verve of this great city is an attainable achievement. New York is felt as much as it is seen.

New York? I love you. Don’t ever change.

Until next time,

Sequins to Nikes

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A New Year’s Eve unlike 2012. That was my only requirement. I couldn’t bear another colossal stroke-of-midnight letdown this year.

I remember that the ballroom was filled to capacity and the cover band was screaming Prince’s “1999”. I was booty-shaking away, thanks to the horrifically bad bottom-shelf vodka/crans that also made me ignorant of the fact that my stilettos were shredding the skin off the top of my pinky toes. It had been a great evening so far, with pre-gaming in the hotel rooms upstairs and the ever-female three hour ritual of group beautification. A forgotten strapless bra panic had been remedied by hacking off the straps of a push-up bra. Price tags were ripped violently off flashy new garments. We crammed ourselves into the bathroom and expertly applied eyeliner and falsies. And me, I couldn’t believe I’d let my friend talk me into wearing this strapless sequined tube of a dress. I didn’t have the boobs she did, but prayed it would miraculously stay put.

There were 15 of us in total, with myself as the lone East coast-er, the only one with real boobs, and one of the two single people in the bunch. Relationship status didn’t matter in the hours leading up to midnight – we were just a group of friends ringing in the New Year. But when the night reached its frenzied peak as the countdown began, I looked around for the other single girlfriend.


She had disappeared.


All the couples around me were arm in arm, shouting the backward numbers, blissfully ignorant of my crisis.


Some creepy guy standing next to me grabbed my waist. I shoved his hands off me and flung my steely “just try that again” look at him. He didn’t.


I stood alone, on a crowded dance floor.


There’s something magical but heartbreaking about the moment a new year begins.  The elation of the digit-flip, the cheering, the falling confetti, and the slow descent from frenzy into Auld Lang Syne are all very intoxicating. Time pauses while you enjoy the soft caress of lips with your companion. You bless the wonderful memories of the past year and wish good riddance to the ugly ones. And in these first few seconds, the new year is pristine. It is untouched and unblemished. It is perfect, yet still so easily shattered as you realize that the same feeling of despair and loneliness that existed at 11:59:59 on 2011 was not only still present, but magnified tenfold at 12:00:01 on 2012.

Because I stood alone, on a crowded dance floor.

The romantic embraces all around me seemed to defy time. I was about to leave the dance floor when suddenly I caught sight of my sequined-dress-pusher of a best friend running at me, arms outstretched. Before I could blink she had planted a loud, smacking kiss on my lips and was screaming ‘Happy New Year, Peach!!!’ over the din.  We laughed and hugged and then of course went back to more blister-inducing dancing, almost as if that moment of darkness had never occurred.  Hell, I doubt anyone even sensed it, other than me.

This year when given the chance to come to New York, I was hellbent on NOT having an emotional fuckery repeat during the ball drop of 2013.  Single-hood be damned, I’ve had too great of a year to spend even one iota of a second feeling sorry for myself at the stroke of midnight.

During 2012 I got healthy and got happy. I reveled in the proximity to family after so many years away. I was lovingly embraced by friends old and new. I dated a few men, and have those shitshow stories to thank for starting this blog. I made a Life List and started a journey of living my life for me, to the fullest and to the fore. I recognized my deep-down passions and started to go after them, without letting fear of judgment control my ambitions.

I’m so glad that I chose “different” over “usual” this year for New Year’s Eve.  I swapped the dress and stilettos for a compression shirt, race bib, running tights and my trusty Nikes. Instead of battling a sweaty dance floor packed with obnoxious handsy drunks, I battled the cold and my newly-strong body all the way to a sweaty finish line.footWM


Running those 3.14 miles through Brooklyn’s Prospect Park couldn’t have been more perfect. There were no expectations, and no silly build-up leading to a monumental emotional hangover. The only drunks I saw were teenagers teetering along the park’s path with their party hats and smuggled bottles of champagne.  I listened to my steady breath inhaling and exhaling the chilly air in a solid rhythm. My thigh muscles bunched and released with every stride and I remember grinning at the thought that there’d be no way in hell my rockin’ new booty would fit into that sequined strapless number from last year.  I laughed as I was passed by a girl who ran the race with her torso wrapped in Christmas lights.  I challenged myself to pass a few folks, just to see if I could do it. And when we crossed the finish line just before midnight, we celebrated with steaming cups of Swiss Miss hot chocolate.  The few hundred of us counted down to 2013 underneath the barren trees, exhilarated and alive as we watched the fireworks start. I hugged Might-E and her friend, and that was it. No muss, no fuss.

At 12:00:01 of 2013, there were no residual feelings of loneliness or despair. There was only peace and happiness.  Because I knew that I didn’t need a clock or confetti or a ball drop to tell me how amazing this year will be. My goals were already in motion and I knew that even bigger, better things were in store for me.

When I closed my eyes that night, curled under a blanket in the heart of Brooklyn, I thanked the universe for everything that was 2012. The struggles and the joys changed me for the better and I’m steady, solid and happy for the first time in as long as I can remember. I drifted into my first sleep of 2013 with a smile in my heart.


Linking up with the fantastic crew over at YeahWrite.

Mighty Peach Life List #62 – Try Foie Gras…DONE!

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The intro to this Life List item is here.


Russell’s research led us to The Iberian Pig in Decatur, GA. If you’re worth your weight in the Atlanta foodie scene, you’ll know that Decatur is actually challenging Atlanta “proper” in regard to the food & bev industry. The Iberian Pig not only stood up against but surpassed the few restaurants I’ve tried in Downtown or Midtown. Our outrageously knowledgeable and charming server aced our barrage of menu questions and threw in fun facts about our selections as the night progressed. I dig a server who guides your choices instead of tapping their foot impatiently waiting for you to decide. Whether it involved our wine selection or inquiry on salad portion size or which cheese HE preferred – ours rocked.  He handled our raucous table of nine as efficiently as a timid two-top. We were never without drinks and each round of plates came out as if they’d been choreographed. We always had just enough time to enjoy the afterglow, but never so much time that we were missing our next course. Have you ever booked a reservation at a pricey lovely restaurant and then felt hurried along to free your table for the next seating? Nope, didn’t happen here. We felt relaxed and were able to enjoy the meal along with each other’s company.

Another bonus: unlike most upscale restaurants that require one check and auto-add the gratuity, we were appreciative that we were allowed to split our check 5 ways… and I’d bet you anything that our server came out with way better than 18%! The restaurant itself played a big role for us, too.  Russell, awesome organizer that he is, called ahead and gave a fellow named Ian a heads up about our special evening’s focus. You see, their menu’s foie dish was a play on french toast (“Foienche”)  but my friend wanted my first tasting of foie gras to be more traditional.  After inquiring with Ian, Russell was assured they could accommodate us!


And that was just the service and experience. Let’s move on to the food.

The Iberian Pig boasts a menu that can seem overwhelming at first. How can one possibly choose a *reasonable* amount of food from the vast array of charcuteria and cheese plates, salads, flatbreads, tapas, entrees, desserts and cocktails?!? Ummm, can I have one of each, please? There were so many unbelievable flavor combinations we all wanted to taste, so we decided to stick with the tapas menu as the bulk of our meal.  This way, we could share and taste more than if we’d all gotten a single entree.

Hold on for the culinary ride, folks.

First we needed booze. Because, duh. Terrazas de los Andes, Reserve Malbec Mendoza, Argentina 2009

First we needed booze. Because, duh. Terrazas de los Andes, Reserve Malbec Mendoza, Argentina 2009

Traditionally prepared foie gras, served on a crostada with slivered pears and honeyed nut medley. I didn't catch what the sauces were.

Traditionally prepared foie gras, served on a brioche crostada with slivered pears and honeyed nut medley. I didn’t catch what the sauces were.

My first taste of Foie Gras. LifeList #62? Check! It was... interesting. Crisp outside, creamy inside, slightly fatty-bacon tasting but not as pork-y. The texture and flavor were not what I expected! It wasn't grainy or liver-esque at all. Kinda made me tilt my head to the side and go, "... Hm. It's weird, but it doesn't suck". Do I crave more? Not really. Would I eat it again? Certainly.

My first taste of Foie Gras. LifeList #62? Check! It was… interesting. Crisp outside, creamy inside, slightly fatty-bacon tasting but not as pork-y. The texture and flavor were not what I expected! It wasn’t grainy or liver-esque at all. Kinda made me tilt my head to the side and go, “… Hm. It’s weird, but it doesn’t suck”. Do I crave more? Not really. Would I eat it again? Certainly.

    Didn't last long at a table of nine...

Didn’t last long at a table of nine…

#2 Cheese plate - Manchego, Mahon, and Canja de Oveja with blackberry, apricot and fig? fruit compotes. Served with artisan bread with the most amazing olive oil.

#2 Cheese plate – Manchego, Mahon, and Canja de Oveja with blackberry, apricot and fig? fruit compotes. Served with artisan bread drizzled with the most amazing olive oil.

On to the other tapas! #3 Crispy pork belly with candied fruits over goat cheese creme fraiche. #mouthgasm

#3 Crispy pork belly with candied fruits over goat cheese creme fraiche. #mouthgasm

#4 Pulpo a la Parilla - Grilled Mediterranean octopus, roasted fingerling potatoes, garlic, watercress pistou, Benton’s bacon salbitxada

#4 Pulpo a la Parilla – Grilled Mediterranean octopus, roasted fingerling potatoes, garlic, watercress pistou, Benton’s bacon salbitxada. This wasn’t my first rodeo with grilled pulpo. I found this one very well executed and it avoided being rubbery. The little suckers made me laugh. 🙂 The seasoning and sauces were a great addition, but potatoes were a bit underdone.

#5 Vieras - Pan seared scallops, butternut squash-morcilla puree, saffron roasted cauliflower, tempura artichoke. I'm a new lover of scallops after this one. They were sweet and buttery with a caramelized sear on one side and sitting in a delectable puree. #wantedmore

#5 Vieras – Pan seared scallops, butternut squash-morcilla puree, saffron roasted cauliflower, tempura artichoke. I’m a new lover of scallops after this one. They were sweet and buttery with a caramelized sear on one side and sitting in a delectable puree. #wantedmore

#6 Manchego Mac 'n' Cheese - Garganelli pasta, Manchego-pork belly cream, butter toasted panko, thyme. After I tasted this, I wanted to run to the kitchen and grab the nearest chef and hug him/her. This was a table favorite, but was so rich we couldn't finish it. #incredible

#6 Manchego Mac ‘n’ Cheese – Garganelli pasta, Manchego-pork belly cream, butter toasted panko, thyme. After I tasted this, I wanted to run to the kitchen and grab the nearest chef and hug him/her. This was a table favorite, but was so rich we couldn’t finish it. #incredible


Copa Catalan – Bruleed Espresso custard served with fresh berries

Closer. #8 Cappuccino. When brought to me, the server mentioned that it may not be up to par because he had a colleague make it and to let him know if it was not good.  It was milkier than I prefer, but I didn't mind enough to send it back.  It was a comforting end of the meal nightcap instead of a smack-your-mama jolt of caffeine.

Closer. #8 Cappuccino. It was a bit milkier than I prefer, but a comforting end of the meal nightcap instead of a smack-your-mama jolt of caffeine.

And there you have it. You can’t say I didn’t go big for this experience!

We left The Iberian Pig happily stuffed and all smiles. I’d finally gotten to try foie gras for the first time and having my friends with me for the experience made it so much more fun! I feel so grateful that I have adventurous-eater-foodie-people who are willing to help me tackle my dreams. Love you guys! And just to make him blush again – thank you again, Russell!

If any of you are in the Atlanta area and want an amazing food experience (and not just another expensive meal) – try this place. And take me with you. 😉

Later, y’all.  I’m off to New York to take on Life List items #58 and #10. Happy New Year, everyone.

Mighty Peach Life List – #62 Try Fois Gras…happening tonight!

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knife-fork2 link here.

Thanks to my Southern upbringing, I’m no stranger to deep fried, covered in Hidden Valley Ranch-style comfort foods. As a half-Cajun I learned young how to de-head and peel a crawfish, but never came around to liking their fishy taste. I didn’t mind gumbo as long as the okra didn’t get slimy, but loved the hell out of some Low Country Boil. My mom is a Texan so there were many a chicken-fried steak and mashed potato dinner. The worst I remember was the corned beef and cabbage. She and Dad loved it. Big bro and I thought it smelled like feet, tasted worse, and we staunchly refused to eat the boiled, salty pink meat. “Fancy” veggies like brussel sprouts rarely made an appearance in our house and my first encounter with asparagus was as a mushy, broccoli-turned-bad tasting thing from a can. I didn’t consider myself a picky eater, as long as it involved normal things. Like mac and cheese, fish sticks, shake ‘n baked pork chops, chicken nuggets, tacos, or chicken pot pie.

There’s nothing wrong with these humble foods, but I’ve come a long way since then.

Moving to the Midwest for grad school helped – it was a very large and very diverse college town with a plethora of international cuisines my palette had never tasted. Indian, Vietnamese, Thai, Japanese, and Mongolian were a few. Who knew I’d love Butter Chicken or sushi so much? But I also came to know and love better quality ingredients. I fell in lust with fine cheeses. I worked at a winery and educated my palette on wines from sweet to dry, white, red, port, late harvest and ice wine. My favorite spot’s filet with port reduction and desserts so good I wanted to hump the chef paralleled my awakening to the understanding: with better ingredients came better tastes. Brussel sprouts and asparagus when fresh and cooked to perfection? Now a whole different story. This was around 2005, the front end of the farm-to-table movement. If it meant food tasted this good, I was fully supportive.

Then I moved to the NY area and my food world exploded. I wanted to try it all, from the salty boiled bagels with lox to matza ball soup to real New York pizza. From Little Italy’s gelato and gnocchi to Morimoto’s steamed pork buns to Mario Batali’s Lupa, Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill, wild boar pasta from some place in the Village and 2am Korean barbecue-it-at-the tables with steaming cauldrons of bibimbap.  My ex was half Ecuadorian and introduced me to maduros, chicharones, papa rellena, chuletas, adobo, yuca fries, ropa vieja, pan con bistec, churrasco, ceviche and the list goes on.

Good grief, I’m a grown-ass foodie but it’s amazing to me that there are still so many types of food I haven’t tried.

Next up on my life list is a controversial one.

Here’s where I say that I’m just a girl… standing in front of a boy… telling you that I want to try foie gras. Be nice.

A lovely friend with many Atlanta chef contacts decided he wanted to tackle this item with me. He not only tracked down the best foie gras place for me, but handled inviting all our friends and booking the reservations. Thank you, Russell!  (ps – Russ is awesome. And blushes easily, which is why I’m doing this. He’s probably red to the tips of his ears by now.)  I decided my Paleo diet is being put into time-out for the evening, too. Gimme the bread, bitches.

Excited doesn’t cover it and we plan to make an evening of it! My friends don’t know this yet, but I want everyone to try a food they’ve never tasted tonight.  Because it’s not just about the foie gras, it’s also about the whole experience. Being brave. Trying. Living.

Now excuse me, I have to go figure out what I’m wearing since the temperatures decided to drop from humid-rainy to BALLS-IT’S-COLD. I’ll report back soon on how it went!

What foods have you never tried, and are a little scared to try!, but are going on your Life List anyway?

Mighty Peach Life List #58 and #10 – Twinkly Lights and Serendipity

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When people ask me if I’ve ever lived in New York, I have to admit, “I’ve never lived in New York, but I lived in Jersey for six years.” That statement is usually met with pursed lips, a brief nod, and a pitying “hmmm.”  Jersey just isn’t the same. It’s not better or worse, save Snooki and The Situation, but it’s not New York City.


During my time in Jersey, I adjusted to the frantically-paced lifestyle and the “kill or be killed” driving mentality. I gave in to the reality that rats were fair roadkill game and that the enormous potholes could swallow a small child. But you don’t brag about those things to visiting family who can’t believe you moved to Jersey in the first place. Instead, I used their trips north to tackle big ticket NYC items and relished being a wide-eyed tourist with them. A few friends from college lived there too, and through them I experienced the lesser-hyped NYC phenomena. I danced on the bar at the real Coyote Ugly, saw operas at the Met, got lost wandering Central Park, and threw my 30th birthday bash at a bar on 8th Ave.

After six years, leaving Jersey wasn’t tough. I learned so much about myself, and I’d never trade my time there for anything, but it was time to go home. Now that I’ve been back in Atlanta for a year, I’ve realized I regret not doing a few things before I left.

With Christmas around the corner, I’m especially bummed that I never saw the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. When I tried to rally my native Jersey friends to go back then, they made the tree lighting ceremony sound like the worst of horrors—a crush of holiday-frazzled humanity who made it impossible to be near the tree at the magical moment. The big day always came and went, and in the holiday-filled weeks afterward my excuse was that I was too busy. “I’ll go next year,” I said. But I never did. Then I moved. Onto the Mighty Peach Life List it went.

This year, the folks at Bing told me to pack my fanciest Santa hat, my camera, and my walking boots, because they are sending me to New York to gaze lovingly at my tree. Bonus? I’ll get to check off #10 on my Life List—have a frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity! I’m counting the days and plotting what other trouble I can get into while I’m there.

I’ll report back when I return, but until then, tell me: What are your favorite NYC must-do and must-sees?

Day 28: Lists and Longhand

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I’m a list-maker. Lists make me not crazy. I have been known to color-code and pivot table my grocery lists.

Not really.

When I feel overwhelmed with everything that needs to get done, I start with a list. Then I prioritize said list by a few sub-lists.

  1. Things that have to get done OMFGRIGHTNOW
  2. Things that have to get done TODAY or the world will stop spinning
  3. Things that have to get done SOON? (ie: the next few days or so)
  4. Things that can wait a while and no one will die.

Once I have a clear idea of the personality of my “things” I tackle those OMFGRIGHTNOW guys first, and in order of their own tugging on my pant legs. Once they are quiet, I move down to the next category and work my way through the line in order of their priorities. And so on and so on. This system works for me 99.99% of the time.

Now seems to be the 00.01% of the times it is not.

Thinking about it, I couldn’t be happier as to why my OCD-style lists aren’t effective at the moment. It’s because there is so much to do that is good. I just don’t know where to start! It’s all so big and shiny and exciting that I’m kind of sitting back, staring at my awesome to-dos in admiration… but not digging in yet. Silly, yes. But trust me, I also know this is a GREAT problem to have. I just need to pick a starting point and DO.

lemme stop.

Then, between doing NaBloPoMo (blogging every day for the month of November) via YeahWrite (which means reading my rowmies and columnites there, and once a week writing something with *substance* instead of my normal asinine rambling), plus all the post-CampMighty processing/brain-dumping, I’m kind of all over the place. Kind of like that last sentence, there. Hello, 2.5 college degrees, why do you desert me?

I’ll get my focus soon I hope, because I have a busy December coming up!

I want to continue my streak of writing every day, but in a different form. Get this – I signed up for Alice Bradley’s Month of Writing Prompts. In this MOWP exercise I’ll be using Alice’s provided prompts to free-write for 15 minutes a day, in longhand. Do not stop at Go, keep writing, do not edit, just WRITE. This will be a challenge for me, Miss Perfectionista, who wants to fix things the moment they appear from the tip of my pen or on the screen. Plus there’s the fact that my handwriting is completely illegible to everyone on earth but me. But in the end, I want to stick to writing fiction only. To use the prompts to let my imagination go where it wants and just wing it.  No personal blatherings scrawled on paper to muck through the allotted time. I want to CREATE something, for 15 minutes, every day. Just like Margaret Stewart said here:

… as “creators” of anything, we have to find and defend our time to MAKE. No excuses. It’s important.

Yes. Yes it is. Let’s just hope I don’t wind up with a notebook full of doodles instead of stories.

Aside from my writing commitment there is also: stick to my training schedule for my upcoming 15K, keep up the usual CrossFit self-torture, complete my holiday shopping, do some holiday traveling and continue my life list badassery.

Y’all ready to keep up with me???

I’ma need some stronger coffee.