We’ve all heard it before. You can’t predict your life. Things happen. What you have designed for your life is not what God has designed for your life.




When I was a child, I lived in Michigan and planned to live in California and become a famous actress. Or a teacher. And I’d write about my dreams.

When I was a teenager, we moved to California and I planned to work at Disneyland. Or marry John Stamos. And I’d write about my dreams.

When I was in my 20’s, I went to college and planned to become an award-winning news journalist. And I’d write about my dreams.

When I was in my 30’s, I was a single mom trying to make ends meet. I planned to marry rich and spend the day being a carefree housewife. Or live in New York. And I’d write about my dreams.

Now I’m in my 40’s.

I thought by now I’d be married. I thought by now I’d be published. I thought by now my name would be known. I thought by now I’d be fairly debt free, fairly financially stable, fairly living where the grass is greener.


I still live in California.
I’m still a single mom.
I still believe in God.

And I still write. About my dreams. About my memories. And everything in between.

I write.

All the time.

“Life is what happens when you make other plans…”

I always tell people, I was born to write. I have ink instead of blood. I keep my fingernails clipped short to make it easier to type. I always carry a notebook and pen wherever I go. I have my own brand of shorthand, and I know how to write in the dark.

I can be inspired to write a sonnet by looking in a landfill of trash.

When I go to a movie, it has to be a really good one to keep me from being distracted with thoughts of “I could write that better” or “this scene should have been written this way”.

I have yet to make a living with my writing. I don’t have any national awards on my resume yet. People aren’t sending me fan mail. Yet.

But this I know:

I’m not settling for a change of plans.

I was born to write.

And I am really good at what I do.

I’m just waiting for the rest of the world to realize it.

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

Writing Sample: Term Life Insurance
Teaching My Teenager How to Drive (Or, Rather, How She Taught Me to Teach Her)
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