Why I Write

How my brain works.

I’m either…

Not interested. 

Or obsessed. 

There’s not much happening in-between the two.

So when I get an idea in my head, I can’t sleep until I’ve fully executed whatever it is I am currently obsessed with.

Like the time I decided to make my family homemade orange rolls.

I’d never had an orange roll, but I love cinnamon rolls. I love oranges. I love sugar! I love carbs!

An orange roll sounded  something that had to be in my belly–asap.

I spent all flippin’ day making these rolls. First making the dough. Then rolling it out and evenly distributing the orange preserve. Then rolling it up. Then putting it in the fridge. Then in the oven…

OK, it didn’t take me all day.

More like 45 minutes (minus the four hours in the fridge).

End result?

Yeah, those are supposed to be orange rolls.

Nailed it.

Cleary, I missed a step somewhere because those suckers were rolled when I put them in the pan. Cross my heart.

Jed asked if it was teriyaki chicken.

I was told they were good–obviously, being half the pan is gone.

Granted, my children have low standards.

This is why I write.


Here’s the thing, we all need something, right?

Clearly, baking isn’t my area…or crafting….or physical stuff…or things with too much numbers….

So I write.

It makes me feel whole. It’s what I enjoy. It’s what I’m good at. It what makes me feel like me.

And I’m good with that.


My family?

They’re supportive 🙂

Did I ever show you my cake pop attempt?

I swear I’m not trying to suck at baking. It comes to me naturally.


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