Author: katecavanaughwrites

Bookshoppe Dogs & First Wins

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350 miles, 10 chapters edited, and approximately a million hours spent researching the intricacies of single-pilot aircrafts later, we are at the end of another week!

I do fear there’s precious few of those remaining in 2025. (Three. There are three as of this typing.)

There’s been lots of highs and lows. Literally, because the weather in Texas can’t make up its mind. Is it Fall, is it Winter, or is it most people’s idea of the perfect Summer?

As mentioned on last week’s blog, I visited my friend in College Station this week! Her dog, Penny, has to be a shout-out for my favorites for the week.

This precious girl has to be over a decade old now. She has few teeth and few cares. She shakes when she’s excited and also when she’s cold. (Her sweater collection is immense and themed, and I’m jealous.)

It’s a delight to know my friend’s pets almost as well as my own. And truly I wish every place I visited could have a dog.

Speaking of which!

Favorite new bookstore: Wonderful Words Bookshoppe in Bryan, Texas. They have a built-in secret shelf that leads to the mystery/thriller section of their shop. Need I say more?

OH WAIT, YES, because they have a shop dog!! (Their name is Benchly.)

My friend very casually slipped into conversation that I had a book coming out and they were effusive in their congratulations and request for me to visit when the book debuts. Hopefully next time I’m visiting her, we can organize that signing after all!

Favorite parasocial moment: Evelyn From The Internets is posting for Vlogmas and the scream I scrumpt!!! I know parasocial relationships are kinda weird and can be dangerous and can blah blah blah, okay? OKAY? I DON’T CARE. Literally, it was a joy to see her on my screen with a new video again. She made a video — ages ago — where she referenced, “Don’t be afraid to be seen trying” and it’s become a mantra for me. For a couple years, that’s all it was. A thing I’d repeat to myself. I needed just to hear it, to work my way up to living it. I’m not sure I’m always there now, but I feel it. And it’s because of her. (Also her entire recent-ish Thirsty Thursday series is iconique, if you’d like to start with something. Pick any, they’re all great.)

As for another thing I’ve been watching…

Favorite show: Dexter: Resurrection. Holy. Shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. Okay, so I weirdly watched Episode 4 of this with Becca at Comic-Con because I don’t mind coming into a show halfway through and told The Husband that we needed to start watching immediately. We didn’t. A half year later and finally, we got around to it, and I hesitate to call the show perfect TV, but it’s pretty damn close!

Favorite recipe: The skillet gnocchi with miso butter and asparagus by Ali Slagle in NYTimes Cooking was, indeed, incredible. As delicious and nutty as I’d hoped and an incredible way to eat more greens (something I’m always on the search for!).

I think next week I’ll try the Cheesy White Bean Tomato Bake by Ali Slagle, too! See if she’ll do me right again.

Favorite bite: Unfortunately, there’s nothing like other people cooking for me, and so the meal my husband made of stovetop mac’n’cheese mixed with more cheese and also pulled pork does in fact take the proverbial cake. The above recipe was incredible and delicious and I did eat all my leftovers, including the single serving I had still in the fridge when I returned from College Station, but was it better than mac’n’cheese and more cheese and pulled pork? No. Credit where credit is due.

Favorite sports moment: Watching Lando win his maiden F1 Drivers Champion title. Do I wish it were my boy, OP? Yes. But I assigned myself a McLaren fan as I began watching the sport and have so enjoyed Lando raising McLaren from the midfield. And I love seeing a man cry (happy tears), which he did spectacularly. Also donuts! Vroom, vroom.

Favorite new jewelry: Your girl got pierced (again)! I finally have a second lobe piercing on both of my ears and will have these tiny silver hearts in place for the next four months, or however long the piercer recommended. I currently have a gold moon in one ear in my original piercing, and a gold star in the other original piercing, and the piercer wanted to confirm I was down for the mixed metal look. I am.

I do fear that this has unlocked the desire for more piercings. Just in the ear though. I think I’d still like my helix, and maybe tragus done. But I’m eyeing a tattoo place to book up in the future for when my brother graduates from his PA school so that we can get our sibling tats. (The current plan is matching N64 controllers.)

Favorite cursed object: This Santa from Dollar Tree. I didn’t buy him, but he won’t be soon forgotten.

It’s like looking into a mirror for this week. Technically it has the shape of the thing, but something about it isn’t quite right. That’s how I always feel with mid-week travel. I was here, but I wasn’t here. It was wonderful, but it was A Lot.

ARCs of THANKS FOR WATCHING are almost out and my emotions are in a whirlwind. I’m excited for people to read my story. That’s what I want. I’m also nervous for the reaction, because the little Doubter and Impostor tells me I should be, but I know I can’t control that. I’ve done everything I can to create the book exactly as I want it to be, and I hope it finds its readers. That’s what I keep having to tell myself. (Even when sometimes that voice feels like it’s being drowned out.)

Next week, I think, will be a lot of the same. I have jury duty. I have a holiday party. I have videos to film and words to write and books to buy and hopefully all of that will be a growing chorus of so much fun that the Impostor Syndrome doesn’t stand a chance at getting a word in. Fingers crossed.

Let me know some of your favorites for the week. Thanks for reading! 🙂

Hot Streaks and Bonus Material!

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It’s the end of the week, and the end of November, and I keep asking myself, “Where did the year go?”

I fear it’s the thing my parents always warned me about: that time moves faster the older you get. And even though — logically — I accept this inevitability, I also reject it. AWAY, YOU UGLY TRUTH, AWAY.

To contend with this pain, I thought I’d share some of my favorite things from the past seven days. Maybe reminiscing, recollecting, and sharing can be the solution.

In no particular order, here are some favorites:

Moments: Chatting reality TV (from Survivor to Married at First Sight, and yes, I promise there is a through-line if you’re a true trash panda) and playing Hot Streak at Friendsgiving. It’s not my favorite board game I’ve played, but perfect when you’ve drank nearly an entire bottle of champagne on a lazy Monday evening.

YouTube Video: Do you like sweaters? Do you wear sweaters? Do you enjoy falling down unnecessarily specific rabbit holes, specifically in regards to sweaters? Then I think you’ll like this video.

Thing I bought: Technically I ordered this a couple weeks ago, but my Holo Taco package finally arrived, which included the Sticky Base Coat. I am known to mess with my hands, especially my fingers, and will often peel my polish. Part of this is anxiety and part of it is the absolute satisfaction of a thing well-picked and/or torn and thus, my manicures often last me only a day or two, if I’m lucky. Up until now, the plus-side has been that I can change the colors I wear multiple times a week. The minus-side is perhaps everything else.

But now! Now I have a new holy grail and it is the Sticky Base Coat. It gives me about 3.5 days of manicure wear without any lift, meaning I have used it twice since it arrived and I am AMAZED. I’ve loved both manicures and finally feel like it’s worth applying magnetic polishes again.

(With the bonus that I still get to rip off my polish in a few days! The mani can still be picked at and come off in one fell swoop, hooray!)

An honorable mention goes to the NYTimes Cooking App subscription for the year. ($25 on sale.) They finally made it so their tiramisu recipe couldn’t be accessed over the paywall and I swear by it. Now I have a whole list of “Easy” recipes I want to make.

Made: The aforementioned tiramisu for family Thanksgiving. Marrying into a family with elite cooks often means that I feel incredibly satisfied, satiated, and grateful, but also like I haven’t contributed enough. So being able to share the oft-requested tiramisu makes me happy! (It’s also so easy.) I only have a single photo of the tiny bit I was able to take home, but my goodness, it was delicious.

Wrote: Is it terrible if I say this post? I wrote a lot of disparate things this week, several of them very fun bonus materials for THANKS FOR WATCHING. I am really excited for all of them, but I’m also nearing the point of being So Very Done with the story that I need a brief break from it. A little, loving hiatus, before I return and rererereread it in its final form.

Also, I’ve been wanting to blog again and this is the first post I’ve made in over two years?? Incredible.

Alternatively, I also came up with a brief outline for ANOTHER mystery that I might try to pitch Inimitable Books as a follow-up to TFW, so that’s quite fun as well. It even has a title! I also want to utilize a dual timeline, something I’ve never attempted before. How fun!

Read: A few short chapters (“short” as in a single page) of Murder Among the Stacks. It’s this adorable word search mystery, where on one page you have the story and on the other page, a word search! Eventually you’re supposed to be able to use the word searches to solve the whodunnit and honestly, this is the perfect “turn your brain off and chill” book. It also hits on some nostalgia of these activity books with a vague storyline from when I was a kid! 10/10, would recommend (if you like word searches).

Email I sent: Will this category ever come up again? I doubt it! But this week I sent off the email to my favorite local indie bookshop, hoping and requesting for them to host my launch day event. Not only did they agree, they also offered to help do a signed preorder campaign!!!!! ALL THE EXCLAMATIONS! I’m so giddy words cannot possibly do my emotion justice. I’ll keep y’all updated when those signed copies are available.

Podcast: The only way I clean my house is with my headphones on and a podcast playing. I’m currently working my way through Curse of: America’s Next Top Model, a recommendation from Clara, and it. Is. Incredible. I’m on episode 6 and absolutely riveted.

Screenshot

Show: My husband, the tech guy, has finally configured a way for us to watch allllll our British television and while I specifically had requested The Great British Sewing Bee, it’s Taskmaster that’s dominating our screen right now.

We’ve finished the series with Fern Brady (14), Noel and Mel of separate eras of GBBO (4), and chaos incarnate Jason Mantzoukas (19).

Now we’re starting from Series 1 and will work our way up until there’s no more new-to-us episodes to watch.

And then, maybe, I’ll finally go back to The Great British Sewing Bee. Or just start a rewatch of Taskmaster.

Pictured: Greg Davies and Alex Horne

For some things I’m looking forward to this coming week: December! The small act of changing my calendars over always makes me grin, especially the freebie ones I get from my husband’s aunt every year that feature and support the National Park Foundation. (I also got to pick out my calendars for next year and oh boy, am I excited. It sounds like I’m being sarcastic, but that was a genuine “oh boy” and I stand by it.)

I’m also taking a mini roadtrip across Texas to visit my friend in College Station and it’ll be wonderful to see her. It’s been almost a year since we last chatted in person and I can’t wait to cozy up on the couch and binge watch some TV, nestled amongst all her holiday lighting. (She goes all out for Christmas and it quite literally is like living on the set of a Hallmark movie, but better. They should hire her.)

I also thought of a fun video idea that will require me to visit all the local bookstores in my city and maybe send off a goodie bag or two to end the year. One of the shops should even be on my way to visit my friend, so I’ll get to knock that one out early. All in all, lots to look forward to! 🙂

What was your favorite moment/podcast you listened to/email you sent this past week??

Thanks for reading! 🙂

The Writing Experiment That Nearly Broke Me…

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Welp. It was only a matter of time. After hundreds of writing experiments, eventually I would have to find the one that would break me. That would stump me for weeks on end. That had me questioning if I should scrap everything and start over (…..or maybe not start over and bury my own head deep, deep, deep in the sand).

The premise? Simple! Pull three or four oracle cards to guide a story, then draft, revise, and edit it entirely on stream. My delusional ass thought it would take merely two streams to do all of this, because ??? We may never know.

It really took five streams, countless minutes sprinting, and a loooot of self-doubt. (How fun!)

Anyways, if you haven’t already watched, you can see it all unfold here:

And as promised in that video, I’d like to share the winding road I took on page in writing this short. We journeyed through the land of the Brain Dump Poem, a sea of Outlining Mess, and slowly but surely trekked through the narrowing This Might Be Okay Way.

You can find it all (including the history, I hope) right here!

And now, the final result of pulling The Man, 9 of Cups Reversed, The Escapist, & The Tree, may I present my short story:

Something Good & Strong & Brave

Every child born in Vesineeru dreams of being good and strong and brave. For if you are good and strong and brave enough, you may one day march along the lake’s edge. From there, you can see the glittering waters up close. Breathe in their salty spray. Legend states that a single wayward drop is powerful enough to grant women wings, turn mere men immortal, and the humidity’s always thick and full with this promise.

Before the march, Vesineeru’s history was taught only in spurts, for sometimes years were lost, taken away with the tide, or stolen by conquerors, raiders who wished to drain the lake of its enchantment. But since the march began, since the good and strong and brave people have guarded the water’s edge, daring not to touch it, daring to keep others away, Vesineeru has sprawled and prospered.

Protect our history, secure our longevity.

Those were the first words Pali remembered, perhaps the first to ever touch his ears. Or maybe the first he uttered, surrounded by family, who told him that one day he would be good and strong and brave.

Now as he marched, they were all he heard. Protect our history! The chants came beside a crescendo of crashing waves, the skies heavy with the threat of rain. Secure our longevity!

For nine hundred and ninety-nine nights, he had marched. Up and down the beach, around and around the lake. Sand in his boots, sand in his hair, sand in the folds of his arms where the sweat beaded and turned it to clumps. He’d endured bloodied blisters and sunburned skin, eye strain and heat headaches. But he was one of the good. One of the strong. One of the brave.

They marched in groups of ten, the next ten never disappearing from view, the ten in front of them still barely in sight. Uniforms of blue dotted the lakeshore, far as the eye could see, and even farther still, disappearing into the waters they protected, a trick of the eye Pali oft wished could be reality.

For the first hundred nights, he had felt good and strong and brave. The next hundred after, perhaps only good and strong. With every step, every ounce of effort he took to lift his leg above the sand, the very sand that threatened to suck him down, that beckoned him to bury his body in its embrace, he felt his strength drain, his courage humbled.

For a hundred more days, he at least knew he was good. Now, not even that.

Now he felt lucky to awake on his own without being rattled. To spare a single moment of solace, his eyes still closed, as he listened to those waters he swore to protect, as they rolled and retreated, repeated, repeated. In the mornings, they didn’t roar. They barely whispered. But he desperately wanted to hear their secrets. So he strained and focused, only to be jostled, poked, prodded awake. “Get up, get up! It’s time to protect. Time to march.”

During the day, he dared not even look at how the still depths glistened against the sun. He wished only for the Protect our history! Secure our longevity! to reverberate so loudly in his brain as to drown out the intoxicating, roaring melody of high tide. If he could not hear, if he could not see, he could not be tempted.

The day grew long. The sun seared. On and on, he trudged, their shoreline small, but their march never-ending.

His family visited once on purpose. On his second day, when he’d yet to march far. Then again, on his five hundred and first, a happy accident. Hands were waved, smiles of pride beamed, no words shared. He’d done it; he’d made it. Good. Strong. Brave.

That was the first night he shed tears. They’d been threatening to fall for so many nights before; he wasn’t sure what’d kept them back. And for many more nights after, they poured. 

Now, on the eve of his one-thousandth night, as the skies stormed and released their chaos, no one would have noticed if he cried. But now there was nothing left to give.

The storm raged on as dark blue skies turned black. Pali collapsed onto his cot, not bothering to set up his tent. Weariness pressed deep into his chest, pushing him down, down, down, trapping him so he couldn’t breathe. No room to expand, no strength to move.

The best protectors marched for ten thousand nights, some twenty thousand days.

Pali’s body shook, but he couldn’t gasp, couldn’t wheeze, lest his linemates know, lest they witness his shame.

Nine thousand more nights to go.

Relief came only as his linemates’ snores overtook the thunder rumbling in the distance. Familiar, shallow breaths. The storm passed slowly, Pali its only audience. Dark clouds drifted with the breeze, a bright, full moon illuminating the lake. Light rain danced across the top of the mirror glass, its gentle taps lulling him into a trance, a siren’s call only he could hear.

But it was his own voice, this beckoning. For nine hundred and ninety-nine nights, he’d done as he was told. He’d do it again now.

A slight rumble and a cascade of gentle waves masked his cot rustling. No eyes gleamed after him.

He unlaced his shoes and removed his blue uniform, leaving it all behind. His body propelled forward, actions where his mind had yet to place the plan into words. Longing drove him toward the glistening waters.

Sand shifted under his feet, gritty between his toes. He lunged forward, scooping up a handful of the cool beads, not stopping his course. For the first time, as he rubbed the damp clumps between his palms, pressed them flat, swirled his finger, and made designs, he played. Nine hundred and ninety-nine nights, and never once did he think to enjoy the sands, never once did he see anyone else cherish them.

As he neared the chasm where high tide had colored the sands a deep brown, just before beach met lake, where there could be no turning back, Pali tilted his hand and let the grains drift back to the shore. Already his skin buzzed.

The storm had stilled the waves, but even so, a small trickle crawled, rolling across the sand as if reaching out for Pali’s toes. Crisp and cold. Tingles shot from his toe, racing up his leg, through his spine, electrifying and tantalizing.

With a long, full breath that made it past his throat and filled his lungs, he took another step forward. Then another. And another.

He couldn’t remember how he fell into the water. If he dove, if he flopped, if he waded until all that was left to do was swim. But now his shoulders bobbed in the waves, his body floating in its heavy embrace.

The marching orders had become his prison; the waters washed them away. Tension eased from his shoulders, from his jaw, from the spots behind his eyes. And he cried happy, salty tears as the tide carried him to places unknown. He slept on top, light as the reflection of the stars, as twilight slowly gave way to dawn.

He didn’t grow wings; that wasn’t his dream. He wished to belong to the sea. To protect its peace how he was able, and so his legs became one, pulled down by the currents. Scales shaped like the moon grew in place of his skin, reflecting the gleaming magic of the sea. As he took one last, deep breath above the water, his chest filled and weighed him down. He sank and twirled and wiggled his tail. He swam one way, then the other, shooting upwards, laughing as he breached the surface, diving deeper and deeper and deeper. His mind, finally, at ease.

It was magic he breathed in now, magic he breathed out. He became one with the lake, a new creation. Something good and strong and brave.

As discussed in my video, it’s not my favorite short story I’ve ever written. The ending arrives a little too quickly for me, even still, but ultimately I learned a lot from this experiment!! There’s truly no substitute for inspiration and sometimes an idea needs a little more ruminating before we begin writing. 🙂

Let me know if you’ve ever had an experience like this. Have you ever pushed your way through a story that was SCREAMING for more time? (I may have done this before trying to submit another short story on a deadline lolol, sometimes we gotta step up to that plate and swing even when we think we’ll miss!)

Happy writing y’all and thanks for reading! 🙂

Finish the Damn Novel(s) | My July Camp NaNoWriMo 2023 Goal!

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Long time, no blog! If we went off my posts alone, we apparently blinked our way from 2021 into mid-2023. In some ways, that feels close enough to the truth.

But there’s no time to dwell, each word is important now! It’s officially Camp NaNoWriMo and my goal is set to a whopping 35,000 words.

(I haven’t won a Camp since April of 2020, so this feels doable……………but then, so did all the others, lol.)

I’m revising Project Death (draft 5!) and drafting A Closet Full of Cauldrons. Any number of words in either project counts, but I’m aiming for 5,000 a week in the former and 2,500 in the latter.

This Camp is basically phase one of my summer writing plans for these 2 projects, as I’m hoping to reach The End for both around the first week of September.

So far I’m 36% complete on the Editing phase. 8 Weeks remain until the deadline. It LOOMS.

Project Death
Phase:Editing
Due:2 years ago
36%

I did make and post a Day 1 vlog:

And I’m hoping that the rest of the month will look about the same! Just enjoying my celebratory NaNoWriMo puzzle, taking some trips to the library, and making steady progress.

If you’re participating in Camp NaNoWriMo after a long record of L’s, let me know what you’re doing to change that! Or if you are just all about having fun, regardless of winning or losing. (Perhaps the perfect Camp mentality!) And please let me know what you think the perfect Camp snack is, both for around a campfire and for around your computer.

Thanks y’all, hopefully my next post won’t take two years, and happy writing!

2021 Wrap-Up (Feelings, Accomplishments, & Hopes for the Future)

Goals

What a strange year this was. Not just strange, but scary too. And sad. At times, so very, very sad.

It’s hard to think of these pandemic years and not have those feelings spring to mind first. Without my very conscious effort to compile what I accomplished this year, I would have thought of it as a complete dud. Not that “pandemic years” need to be more than duds, if it means we’re alive and still moving forward.

But because the rest of this blogpost is going to be about the positives, the happy memories, the successes and proud victories, while the overall feeling for the year is somewhat gray, I feel I owe the grayness a mention here now.

(TW: death and suicide. Please skip to the bolded bit, if needed.)

As someone obsessed with death, who writes so much about it – including a capital d, Death – this year seemed especially marked by endings. In December 2020, my grandma died. In March 2021, the bestest pepperoni, Duke passed. Both of these felt like deaths that had been delayed. In some wonderful ways, it meant more time with both of them. It also meant seeing them in states, for far too long, where they were declining, where they were ready to go.

And then there was a shift. The deaths that marked the year were sudden. Suicides of friends, neighbors. The type of deaths I haven’t experienced in a long, long time.

Both types of death are accompanied by pain. Pain for those dying, pain for those still alive. Deep pains that take a while to dull and longer for scar tissue to build up, but they will. And slowly, they do. We won’t be the same, but eventually when we look back on those people, the good memories come first.

And in that spirit, for the rest of the post, let us bathe in those good memories and accomplishments!

As per the name of this blog, let’s go ahead and start with READING. I set my goal to a modest 24 books, reasoning that 2 books a month was reasonable, even if I hadn’t actually managed to hit that in The Year That Started This Nonsense (aka 2020).

And y’all, I freaking crushed it. (If we can use “crushed” loosely because I only read 6 more books than was my goal.) But 30!!! I read 30 books this year!! Even better, I’d say I enjoyed almost all of them immensely. Some absolute stand-outs were Beach Read (my very first pick of the year, so it started off strong), The Hero of Ages, The Girl from the Well, Craft in the Real World, The Anthropocene Reviewed, and Steering the Craft.

I also re-learned the lesson that romcoms are the absolute best way to get out of a reading slump. Jasmine Guillory‘s books were exactly what I needed them to be, each and every time. So while Royal Holiday and Party of Two don’t make my list of favorite books I read this year, they were standouts for that reason.

Now let’s move on to my WRITING revelations for this year (as it was revelation heavy) and a few happy accidents/accomplishments that happened along the way.

While I began the year focused on finishing The Meridian Maps (as I have now successfully zero drafted all five books in the series, but needed to go back to the first book and incorporate what I’d learned), I ended up abandoning that goal when I realized, frankly, I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Series are hard! Series are hard. Who knew?? The lesson I took from this was that I needed to hone my fantasy skills with a standalone novel first. And so the return to Project Death was a happy, unexpected accident! One that I started working on ahead of NaNoWriMo and I’m about 75.69% done with, as of writing this sentence. My friend Jess and I are exchanging novels on January 31st, and I’m so very ready for someone else to meet these characters I adore.

2021 was truly my year of collaboration. It all kicked off with Ara at Bentley House Minis and finally showing her build and my accompanying short story. Working with her was absolutely the coolest and I was – and still am – so in awe of her skills and creativity! While I think I could do much better on the story now (more on that in 2022?), I was happy to have finally shared something with my YouTube audience.

Then my friend Cam invited me to join his horror anthology! A new genre is always scary and fun and this one even moreso. This also led to my increasing interest in the short story format and so in September I took on the Ray Bradbury Challenge and got to hang out more with my friend Ka’Shay, who had been writing a short story each week since the start of the year!

I’d also been working on a “DnD novelization” project, a Buddy Thieves story, with my brothers. Between Robert’s audacious character and David’s lush and intricate worldbuilding, it was such a joy to turn our sessions into a serial. And when I heard the news about Kindle Vella, that excitement spiked…to the point that I announced something I shouldn’t have. One thing I learned about myself – and what having an audience means – this year, is that it’s better for me not to announce anything until it’s basically about to be printed. That’s just on me. Because once I thought through how irregularly my brothers and I played (and therefore how quickly my material would run out), I realized I didn’t want anyone paying for a story I didn’t know how often I’d update. I hated that back in my fanfiction days, so there was no way I was going to do that to others now, in 2021. So in 2022, the story will go up for free, on a semi-regular basis, right here on my website. I’m excited.

A couple other accomplishments: My “streaming project,” which I only worked on while I was live-streaming on Twitch. I actually outlined this from start to finish and followed that outline over the course of writing (half of) it. As someone who falls more to the pantser side of the plantser scale, this has been a fun, new adventure! Within the next couple months I’m hoping to return to that WIP, once Project Death is completed. I also continued writing and publishing under my romance pen name, which I am still debating if I’ll ever share with anyone else. It’s been fun to have my own little secret, and I enjoy the idea that if people found my works and enjoyed them, it has nothing to do with me as a person.

Now one advantage that 2021 had over 2020 is that we could start ROAMING again! After I very happily received my double Pfizer vaccination, the first trip I took was to meet up with my family in Lake Tahoe! I think I’ll do an entire write-up on all these trips another time, but I also hit up my old stomping grounds of Vegas (twice!), built a lightsaber at Walt Disney World, day drank on a party barge in Austin, attended the chaos of ComicCon with my friend Becca, and received my booster vaccine! (I went Moderna this time.) My entire immediate family, all partners included, came down to San Antonio for us all to be together over the holidays. There was something just so warm and comforting in being surrounded by these people I’ve missed so very much, eating turkey and brisket and queso and all sorts of other delicious that The Boyfriend smoked, and playing games and chatting together. We also visited The Boyfriend’s family on Christmas Day and discussed a future family vacation back to Vietnam. That was so wonderful too, in feeling so comfortable and accepted and adored by another family that’s become my own.

I will say, I was clearly making up for lost time and am now paying the price. I. Am. Exhausted. So another lesson that’s ultimately more of a reminder: Take a breather between travel. You’ll enjoy all your trips more that way.

Whew! I think that’s it for 2021.

And while I do have some writing, reading, roaming, and work-related goals for 2022, this New Year will also be my 30th year. I made a big deal about my 30×30 (or 3 big goals with 10 mini goals, so I suppose 10 by 3 by 30 is perhaps more accurate), the list of of things I’d like to accomplish before my 30th birthday, and dammit if I don’t still plan on achieving them!

So with a renewed energy, I shall once again focus on getting strong, learning to cook, and speaking Spanish! Wish me luck!

And to quote one of my favorites, Evelyn from the Internets, my continued mantra for this year is: “Don’t be afraid to be seen trying.” I hope you enjoy all your trying in 2022!

Lessons Learned in Trying to Write Like Ray Bradbury for a Month…

Writing Experiment

It’s the end of the Ray Bradbury experiment! Rather than focusing on what I didn’t do (post weekly updates, ahem), I’m going to focus on what I did!

I wrote at least 28,000 words, read at least 30 poems and far more essays, and also realized that THE MARTIAN CHRONICLES by Ray Bradbury wasn’t for me, pivoted, and completed all of THE LOTTERY AND OTHER STORIES by Shirley Jackson.

The copy of this book I borrowed is also very small and adorable, thank you San Antonio Public Library.

I also learned to acknowledge when a story wants to be longer. For about a week, I worked on “Twilight Zone Inspired,” what I thought was a short story. I actually had this idea last year, a sort of weird horror concept, but hadn’t worked on it much. So it’s just been festering in my brain, occasionally screaming at me to scratch the itch and just freaking write it already. And this Ray Bradbury experiment seemed like the perfect time! Only the short story grew longer and longer and within 5 days I was staring down about 9,000 zero draft words, with at least another 3,000 or so needed to hit The End.

And Masterclass, by way of Google, tells me that this is, in fact, a novelette.

Which is fine and I’m very happy to have scratched the itch and started working on the project but it sort of defeats the purpose of the Ray Bradbury experiment. Being, in part, to write, revise, and edit a short story each week, in the hopes that eventually you’ll hit on something golden. Quantity will produce quality and all that jazz.

So, as you can see, I pivoted on September 16th:

I began working on “Superhero Supper,” which is at least a better working title than “Twilight Zone Inspired” bahaha. I won’t be sharing that one with you since I think I’d like to save it for something else – maybe a contest? – in the future, but after that story, I moved on to “Full Moon.”

And so, may I present to you, this cute funny story about some kids on a full moon:

Even though Vanessa’s neck ached, she continued staring up at the sky. She couldn’t look away. Dark gray clouds blanketed the night, hiding the stars. An eerie outline hinted at the moon’s presence, but it wouldn’t have mattered if the oncoming storm completely obscured it, Vanessa knew the moon was there. She could feel it.

“How much longer?” She called out, not looking away, not even blinking.

“Seven minutes!” Darrel shouted. He was the only one smart enough to bring his phone with him to the hill and it was the only light, besides the lanterns illuminating the village miles away, that the clouds couldn’t block out. 

“Does it still, you know, happen? Even if we can’t see the moon?” Evelyn asked. “Like, will we still…,” she trailed off. No one spoke for a bit. 

Their parents hadn’t exactly explained that part. Actually, no one had explained that part, or really much of anything. Not their teachers, not their counselors, not their big brothers or sisters or cousins or council leaders.

They’d been left in the dark, left to stare and wonder.

The autumn breeze cooled Vanessa’s skin, but drops of sweat still trickled down her temple, down her back. The anticipation was too much. Or maybe that was part of the change, the process. You get hot and then you…transform?

Vanessa heard Caleb’s loud gulp beside her. Without looking away from the sky, she reached out and grabbed his hand. His palm was clammy, but she squeezed it tightly. Everything was going to be okay. This was normal, natural even.

“Should we sit down or something?” Caleb asked the group, his voice cracking at “or something.” 

“I’m crouching,” Evelyn called. “Just in case.”

“Me too,” Darrel said.

For the first time since they’d wandered out of their houses, out of the village, and up the long, well-trodden path to the forest on the hill, Vanessa looked away from the sky. “How much longer?” She asked again, her voice frantic now. With a final squeeze, she pulled her hand out of Caleb’s embrace. She wandered a few steps away, the dewy grass soft beneath her feet, before placing her hands and right knee on the ground, anchoring herself to the earth, ready for anything.

“One more minute!” Darrel called, his voice a little farther away now.

Caleb’s feet stomped on the ground, squeaking against the grass. Still a little too close for comfort. What if they changed during the change? What if Caleb became someone…something…she didn’t know?

Now it was Vanessa’s turn to gulp audibly. Despite the breeze whistling through the pines and the rolling thunder following cracks of lightening, Vanessa could hear her heart thump, her breath hitch.

The war in her mind waged loudly and it was only when Caleb cleared his throat again that she knew she had to run. She kicked off her sandals and pumped her arms, trying to sprint faster and farther, but then a cry erupted from her throat. Hers wasn’t the only one. Darrel, Evelyn, and Caleb cried out too, in pitchy pangs of agony.

Her bones became brittle, grinding and crumbling together with each step she took. The muscles in her arms ached, as if twisted and contorted in ways they never had been before and never should be again. Her eyes burst and her nose broke and her skin felt as if it was being peeled off her body in long strands one by one by one.

Someone should have warned her. Someone should have warned all of them. To the moon and stars and all their ancestors all around them, why did no one think to tell them it was going to be like – 

The pain vanished instantly, the wails only an echo in the night. Then the hill was silent once more as Vanessa put another foot in front of the other in front of the other in front of the other and she now had four feet instead of two.

She glanced down at herself, long and lean, with the same black hair she was used to but that now covered her entire body, with a sheen that radiated the light of the moon. The storm had passed, there were no more clouds in sight, everything atop the hill illuminated in a beautiful golden white glow.

Vanessa slowed to a prowl before turning around and bursting again with speed – more speed than she’d ever known before – past her torn clothes and toward where her friends once stood. In the gleaming light of the moon, two large figures appeared, much, much larger than any human.

A werewolf…and a werehorse.

The werewolf crouched low, as if ready to pounce. Its growl was deep and guttural, and Vanessa slowed her approach. The werehorse whinnied, kicking itself up onto its back feet, its hooves displayed. Both had teeth long and shiny like daggers, though no doubt even more dangerous.

“You’re a fucking werepanther!” Evelyn’s voice came from the white wolf’s mouth. “That’s so cool.”

Vanessa’s tail swished and twitched as she got closer to her old friends, sneaking under Darrel’s belly and situating herself between them.

“I’m not mad at the hooves,” Darrel admitted. “I really just feel so…”

“Powerful?” Evelyn asked, as she lunged and jumped and rolled and lunged again, her target unknown to her friends but her display of strength impressive.

Darrel pranced around some more, circling the two of them, before finally settling down again. “Free. I feel free.”

Awestruck, Vanessa had no words other than to purr in agreement. As her friends leaped and ran and chased each other around, she reached out her front legs, claws digging into the dirt as she stretched. Maybe no one from the village told them because this first transformation was too beautiful to describe. No words could do it justice, the feeling of becoming the animal you always suspected was inside. The power, the connection to the rest of the spirit world, the absolute thrill of heightened senses. Vanessa almost wanted to cry. Instead, as if on instinct, she craned her neck up to the moon and let out a purr. A loud howl joined her and soon the neighs followed. Together they created a beautiful symphony of appreciation to the bright, full moon, until a disgruntled quack! interrupted.

 Immediately the howls, purrs, and neighs stopped. The large, magnificent animals all whipped their heads in the direction of the foreign noise, only to find a duck. A duck with fangs. A duck with fangs waddling toward them.

Quack!

Its face was tilted toward the moon still, seemingly eager to join. Vanessa looked back at Evelyn and Darrel, only just realizing that they had, indeed, been missing someone. She turned around again, her new eyes easily parsing through the darkness, but somehow still not truly seeing, not understanding. All she could focus on were the two large front teeth, almost unsettling in the way they hung from the duck’s beak. The duck flapped its wings as it approached, huffing and quacking a little, unable to close its mouth over the large fangs.

It nestled next to Vanessa, fluffing and setting a wing down over her paw. Realization settled in finally, forcing a choked chuckle-turned-chirp out of her. “Caleb?” She asked.

Quack!

“Look on the bright side,” Vanessa said, glancing up at the moon again to have something else – anything else – to focus on. “You’re probably the only wereduck in existence!”

“Better than Mildred being a werebeetle,” Darrel added.

In a low whisper, though not low enough that the rest couldn’t hear with their new abilities, Evelyn said, “Maybe this is why they didn’t tell us anything.”

Quack!

Tada! Anyways, I think with a little more time away from the story – say, longer than week – I could’ve wrapped that “surprise” ending up better, but I still love the heart of it. It’s silly and fun and fits in with Warlocks on the Boardwalk and my other yet-to-be-named goofy supernatural tales.

All that to say, I had a blast with this experiment. Even though the reading was the hardest part – because sometimes I just wanted to keep. on. reading. – I think that bit helped me the most. Especially poetry and short stories, which I don’t often read. I’m not sure this reflects in my own writing yet, but I can absolutely see how a whole year of following Ray Bradbury’s advice would help a writer grow by leaps and bounds.

(And I would hiiiiighly recommend Zadie Smith’s FEEL FREE, John Green’s THE ANTHROPOCENE REVIEWED, and Terrance Hayes’ LIGHTHEAD.)

But that’s it for this experiment!!!! WE DID IT. Thank you so much for joining me, whether you participated too or just followed along. Until next time, happy writing! ☀️

A screenshot of Kate's progress, tracked in Notion, for the first week of the Ray Bradbury experiment.

1 Week of Trying to Write Like Ray Bradbury

Writing Experiment

For my longest “I Tried Writing Like…” experiment yet, I figured check-ins were important!

(Quick edit to add in the video for my first couple days of the experiment.)

As a refresher, or for those of you who don’t know, Ray Bradbury’s ~practical advice~ to writers can be boiled down to:
1) Write 1000 words a day.
2) Read a poem each day.
3) Read an essay each day.
4) Read a short story each day.
5) Write one short story per week.

And to keep track of my progress on those 5 goals, I’ve been using Notion:
A screenshot of Kate's progress, tracked in Notion, for the first week of the Ray Bradbury experiment.

Which is all fine and good and my chart looks pretty, being mostly filled in.

HOWEVER.

This isn’t the type of accountability I need. Though the daily reading is both harder and easier than I expected — easier because it’s quite nice to sit down with a cup of coffee and flip the pages for an hour or so and harder because what I really want to do is just read all day instead of working — I was never worried about getting it done.

I wasn’t even worried about the 1,000 words. Even on weekends, when I half-ass taking time off and not writing, I still get 500, easy.

Nope! I was worried about the short story each week. In part because I don’t often write short stories, though I’ve been trying to flex that muscle more recently. (Which actually is the main reason I decided to try writing like Ray Bradbury in the first place…) Mostly my nerves were because I could so easily see myself completing the zero draft of the short story, forgetting about it amongst all my other Real WorkTM for the week, and then looking at what I’d done and calling it “good enough.”

But if I had to post about it on the blog…

And if I had to share the short story…

Well, look. I’m not saying this short story is perfect. No one but me has read it, and I had a very specific goal while writing it in the first place: not using any dialogue. (Because I’m a genius with titles, yes, that is why it’s called “No Dialogue” in the Notion screenshot.) This short story has gone through a couple revisions though! The zero draft was a mess (as always), the first draft was at least cohesive (though a little ham-fisted), and HERE is the 2nd draft (in which I don’t think I completely got rid of the ham-fistedness. Perhaps now bacon-fisted? I’ll see myself out…).

So may I present to you: No Dialogue.
(Seriously, I need a better title. Maybe this should be part of the challenge, to legitimately title my work. Alas, that’s a problem for next week and Future Kate.)

First came the stomps. Second, the shouts. Either way, the house rattled, the tiny crystals on the chandelier clinking together as they shook, overwhelmed by the noise. Trinity dropped her head slightly to look up the rest of the stairs. Even from behind two doors, muffled as they were, she could still make out the words. His. Hers. Shouts. Screams. Howls of misunderstood agony and accusations, not-so-idle threats. Always, always, always loud.

Trinity scaled the stairs slowly, a war waging in her mind as brutal as the one a few rooms away. She let her backpack slide off her shoulders and slump onto the white carpet next to the double doors. She lifted her hand, resting it on the doorknob. It was cool to the touch, a pretty bronze. Her parents had fought about that too. Her dad had wanted silver ones, something that matched the other appliances, but her mom won that fight. She often did.

Trinity’s breath shook as she finally twisted the doorknob, but she couldn’t push it open, not yet. She hadn’t decided what she wanted. To break up the fight? She didn’t know. Sometimes, if her parents knew she and Serenity were around, they’d stop screaming. Not for long. But they would, for a moment, pretend that everything was okay. Trinity liked pretending sometimes too.

After silently counting to five, Trinity pushed the door open, only to find she wasn’t the only one in her dad’s library. Her sister sat on the white loveseat, a book in her hand and a glass of sweet tea to her right, set on the side table constructed out of wood and carved to look like a hand flipping someone off. Another fight. Her mom thought it gaudy; her dad thought it novel. Dad won that round, but only because he’d snuck back to the shop and bought it, waiting until mom was out of town for Fashion Week to place it in his library. Even though her own office was connected to it by the bathroom, where their voices now echoed, she rarely entered “his space.” She had hers and he had his, and if they could divide the rest of the house that way, they probably would’ve tried.

Sometimes Trinity wondered if the table was more than just a metaphorical “fuck you.” A physical expression of how her dad felt. A picture of their “family vacation” to the Evergreens, framed in silver, sat next to the sweet tea. She and Serenity were eleven then and spent more time with their nanny, grandparents, and the photographer. With people meant to keep them busy while their parents were off doing who knew what for “the business.”

That was the first time Trinity remembered the “how dare you”s, the “I thought we talked about this,” the “shh, the kids are upstairs.” She also remembered how quickly the reminders to be quiet turned into accusations of silencing turned back into screaming, turned into the routine they all knew now so well.

Something smashed into the other side of the wall, and a few collectibles fell off the bookshelf, crashing onto the hardwood floor. A few more teetered, then fell, tiny crystals shattering. No more banging, no more shouting, as if everyone had realized something had gone too far.

Was it a bar of soap? 

Silence.

A blowdryer? 

Silence.

A person?

Trinity didn’t want to imagine. The impact played over and over in her mind, amplifying what might’ve been, favoring the worst-case scenario.

Without the shouting, the gentle whirr of the overhead fan filled the silence, as did Serenity’s finger as it brushed against the page. Even Trinity’s own heartbeat tried its best to be heard, thumping against her ribcage, repeatedly pounding, louder and louder, as the silence stretched on.

Taking a few steps forward, Trinity opened her mouth, desperately needing the words to find their way out, to stop the fighting, at least for today, at least for an hour. From her periphery, she saw Serenity’s arm-waving wildly. Already unsure, Trinity stopped. She glanced over. With a finger pressed to her lips, Serenity shook her head. So together, they waited. They watched. They wondered. The prolonged silence stretched, somehow more scary than the screams. Never before was Trinity thankful for the odd comfort of knowing they were home.

Eventually, Serenity’s arm outstretched, pulling Trinity down onto the couch. She sank into its plushness, instinctively wrapping the waffle blanket around herself. She needed comfort, what little she could find. And for a few eons more, time seemed to stretch, no one speaking, no one shouting. Not even a whisper. Trinity would have thought her sister was somehow immune to the clutches of discomfort except that her eyes continued to skim the same paragraph over and over. Not really reading, not really seeing.

When the low grumbles began from the other side of the door, Trinity sunk deeper into the couch, relief flowing through her that she’d have to question later. Grunts answered the grumbles, both sounds merging, becoming louder and louder as they fought to be the one heard, and soon the shouts were back. Trinity shuddered.

She glanced away from the door, more confident now that her parents wouldn’t come out for a while. They’d likely forgotten the time. Didn’t realize summer school was over. That it had been for hours.

The bookshelves were littered with novels of all genres, research papers from several fields. Still, Trinity’s eyes instead focused on the abundance of family portraits. The ones their parents bought specific outfits for, matching, of course, up until they were about ten. The ones they posed in for hours, changed locations, plastered smiles on their faces that melted as soon as the lens pointed elsewhere.

Pinstripe overalls when they were five, Hawaiian shirts on vacation when they were seven, tie-dye and sparkles and tutus and tuxes. All the same smiles, none too wide, mostly perfected.

Fingers tapped at her palm, and Trinity looked down at her hand, her sister intertwining their fingers together. Trinity looked up to see Serenity’s face mirroring hers. No fake smile there. Her glass was empty, her tea gone, and a bookmark stuffed between the pages. The screams and shouts waged on, but they’d faded into the background again. Just the sound of coming home, the sound of her parents, the sound of family.

Serenity squeezed her hand once. Twice. Three times.

A chuckle escaped Trinity’s mouth and she slammed a hand over her face. That only made her giggle harder, and soon Serenity was stifling her laugh too. Trinity’s own eyes began to well, at the pain of trying to stop her laugh and also from keeping that fake grin on for so, so long.

Once upon a distant time, their parents had taught them that squeeze, what it meant. When they were forced to pose together, often hand-in-hand, they’d take turns squeezing, reassuring. Sometimes they’d squeeze too hard, and they’d start fighting, and it was always the nanny or their granny that stepped in.

Then their granny passed, and grandpa moved away, and they grew too old for a nanny, or their parents could no longer afford one. Trinity was never sure who won that fight or truly who was arguing what. Sometimes she wondered if her parents knew what they were arguing about. The words themselves never seemed to matter, so much as who could make the other hurt more.

Trinity’s giggle died in her throat, the few tears that sprung still trickling down her cheek. She stared into her sister’s eyes, not welling with tears but sad and disappointed and unsure all the same. Trinity squeezed Serenity’s hand three times, an echo of the unspoken words that their parents no longer said. I love you.

Tada! At 1,294 it’s my “completed” short story.

I want to reiterate again that this hasn’t been beta read or edited or seen by anyone but yours truly. (And you now, I guess! Bahaha.) I only want to emphasize this because of how much better stories are once they’ve been beta read, once people question your work, once they point our where they were confused or where they think you were bacon-fisted (sorry, again, so sorry), or any number of other things.

In Ray Bradbury’s challenge to writers, he basically says that if you write one short story a week for a whole year – 52 short stories! – there’s no way they’ll all be bad. He thinks eventually you’ll stumble upon a thing of greatness. One or two or three out of the fifty-two.

So while my personal challenge is only four weeks long, I’m kiiiiiind of hopeful I’ll stumble upon a hint of greatness. That I’ll find a short story that I’ll want to submit to a magazine or journal.

This one isn’t it though. But it was fun! I challenged myself not to use dialogue and to post it up for people to see and by those measures, I feel successful. 🙂

Please do let me know if you’re also participating in this challenge, and if you’ve decided to post your short stories for others to read, leave me a link! Thanks everyone and happy writing!

30 Before 30 (or the big things I want to accomplish before turning the big 3-0)

Goals

Maybe this is a cheat. Maybe it’s actually “3 Before 30.” But I was inspired when I found my old laptop from when I was in college. It’s cobalt blue, weighs about ten times what my current computer does, and has three inspirational NaNoWriMo pressed into it near the keyboard.

Hello ancient computer, my old friend.

To my surprise, I found several stories I thought I’d lost, and several more I don’t even remember. I also found this list, “25×25,” which I wrote about in a previous blogpost on The Other Website Which Shall Not Be Named.

(I’ll give you a spoiler now: I accomplished about 8 of the 25 goals on that list.)

So now that I’m older and wiser, I want a do-over. I’m going to try this whole list thing again, only I’m going to focus on three main goals I want to accomplish, and ten small subgoals that will act as benchmarks along the way.

You ready?

Goal 1: Be conversationally fluent in Spanish (and to celebrate this milestone, take myself on a 30th birthday trip to Argentina).

  1. Complete Duolingo
  2. Write a short story entirely in Spanish.
  3. Read an old favorite series in Spanish.
  4. Read a new novel or series in Spanish.
  5. Watch my favorite movie in Spanish.
  6. Watch a telenovela from start to finish.
  7. Reach out to (and watch!) some Spanish-speaking authortubers or booktubers.
  8. Make a video where I speak entirely in Spanish (and translate my own subtitles!).
  9. Translate one of my own published works into Spanish.
  10. Travel to Argentina and speak Spanish there!

Goal 2: Feel healthy and strong. (Maybe celebrate with a triathlon or one of those obstacle races?? TBD.)

  1. Complete Couch to 5K (….again).
  2. Complete Couch to 10K.
  3. Be able to hold a (freestanding) handstand for 20 seconds.
  4. Run a 5K under 30 minutes.
  5. Run a 10K under 1 hour.
  6. Easily complete 10 push-ups without stopping.
  7. Successfully run an entire half-marathon (without stopping to walk).
  8. Complete 1 unassisted pull-up or chin-up.
  9. Be able to touch my toes.
  10. Be able to do the splits (either left, right, or middle!).

Goal 3: Become a confident cook (and to celebrate, invite friends or family over for a six-course dinner party!).

  1. Finish working through the “Be Our Guest” menu items.
  2. Try one different type of food from each of my favorite cuisines.
  3. Trial and error to find a “starter” course that I love and can make without a recipe.
  4. Trial and error to find a “main” course that I love and can make without a recipe.
  5. Trial and error to find a “dessert” course that I love and can make without a recipe.
  6. Learn the basics of bartending.
  7. Create my own signature cocktail.
  8. Attempt a new recipe each week of 2021.
  9. Try at least 5 recipes from Nadiya’s cookbook.
  10. Invite friends or family over for a six-course meal that I make.

WHEW. Okay. I think that’s it.

It’s funny because if you could look through all the goals and resolutions I’ve ever made – scribbled in notebooks, taped to walls, saved onto Google Docs – you’d notice that these three have always been the theme.

This may be Too Much, but I like the fun of setting my goals high. Let me know if you notice a pattern in your resolutions or goal-setting! What’s something you want to accomplish by X age?

Okay, off to play around on Duolingo! Wish me luck! 🤞

Kate at computer, writing goals

The Year of Finishing

Goals

Welp. I finally did it. If you’re reading this blogpost it means I completed one of my big goals for 2020: publishing my new website. Did it take an entire year of trying, crying, failing, avoiding, and then trying again, only to not accomplish the task until the calendar year turned?

Yes. Yes it did.

But it got done! And that’s the energy I’m bringing forth into this New Year.

That’s right! I’m doth decreeing 2021 as the Year of Finishing.

Where I’ll be spending 85% of my time this year, if I hope to finish everything on my To Do list.

What, you might be wondering, am I hoping to finish this year? (And how much of it, like the website, was I supposed to complete last year? Okay, I’m not going to answer this one. Just know that I acknowledge your side-eye.)

  1. The Meridian Maps (Book 1)
    • I zero drafted the entire series so now I need to put what I learned from Books 2 – 5 into Book 1. Then, complete at least one more round of beta readers (maybe two!), then sensitivity readers, then it will be off to the editor with hopes of publication late this year!
      • Honestly, I’d like Book 2 (title decided but ~not yet announced~) and Book 3 (currently no title because I’m bad at titles) to be seen by beta readers this year as well. Fingers crossed.
  2. Project Death
    • My next book baby to be queried! Do I still need to remove the prince character entirely and finish my rewrite before this happens? YES. But I’m hopeful this will be accomplished this year.
  3. 52 Recipes
    • I’ve decided to take on the very exciting task of learning to cook. It’s been a goal of mine since I reached adulthood but I’ve mostly subsisted on baked sweets (I love baking…), grilled cheese, and fruit. NO MORE. The goal is one new recipe a week and, ideally, at the end of 2021, I’ll feel much more confident in my cooking chops.
      • Currently I’m working through the food from the song Be Our Guest! (I just made beef ragu yesterday and it. was. divine.)
      • A lifelong goal of mine is to be able to comfortably make a six-course meal. “Comfortably,” meaning that I don’t even have to look at a recipe! One day. One. Day.
  4. Achieve a pull-up. Lift my entire body off the ground unassisted.
    • What a long journey this has been. 2020 did see a wonderful year of fitness for me, but the pull-up is ever elusive. The work I put in last year will undoubtedly help but I still have a ways to go…

The route on these 4 goals has taken longer than expected, but it is happening. It’s the Year of Finishing and I’m ready.

(Plus, like, if I finish all these projects, I just get to add new ones! That’s the best gift I can give myself!)