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We were on a break

When I sent my last newsletter in May, I was working on a manuscript I had committed to finishing and publishing this Fall. But, not long after sending that newsletter, I realized I needed to step back. I was burnt out and so overwhelmed with work that I was paralyzed and couldn’t get a single thing done. A friend suggested I unplug from writing for a few weeks. And while I was reluctant at first, it turned out to be exactly what I needed.

After my break, I started writing…another book. I immediately thought of that infamous line from Friends, when Ross tried to explain to Rachel that he only cheated because “we were on a break.” It turns out that while I was on a break from one manuscript, I had a fling with another one. Awkward, I know.

In all seriousness, setting aside a draft until I can make it work is part of my process. One day, I’ll be able to give that original manuscript the love and attention it needs and deserves. But for now, I’ll keep working on my never-ending to-do list and several other projects, including my third book, launching in May 2026. Stay tuned for the official announcement coming soon. 🙂

Thank you doesn’t seem big enough for how much I appreciate every person who has read my books, written a review, and dropped me a note. I appreciate you coming along while I finally live my dream. Oh, and you might want to hold on because the ride is just beginning.

I’ve joined Substack!

I’ve moved my newsletter to Substack. If you’re there, I’d love to connect with you.

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One writing rule I thought was stupid…

There are a lot of rules when it comes to writing. Things like, show don’t tell; don’t write a prologue; and get rid of adverbs are just a few of the fun ones we’re bound to beat our heads against a wall about at some point or another.

But the one that gave me the biggest headache had to be this one:

Write what you know.

The first time I heard this nugget in Dr. Raymond’s creative writing class at Stetson a billion years ago, it struck me as ridiculous. It’s called fiction. By its very definition, it is not what I know.

Did Anne Rice know what it was like to be a vampire? Possibly, but unlikely. Was Lee Child a badass ex-MP who went around fighting the powerful? Nope.

It took decades and a lot of grumbling to figure out the real meaning for me was to write the feelings I know. The reasons why characters behave the way they do.

And while I haven’t been an artist, a billionaire playboy, an astronomy professor, or the president—I have been wounded. I’ve lost. I’ve won. I’ve been gutted over grief. I’ve had dreams slip away. I’ve had my heart broken. And I’ve moved on despite it all.

This is what creates a story people stay up late reading because they connect with and feel right along with the characters. It gives them a stake in what happens.

So I guess I’ll keep writing what I know—the heart of the story—because that’s where the real magic happens.

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These are just words

As I prepare to launch my first book, I’ve been mulling over different ways to connect with readers. One suggestion was to create a newsletter to reach inboxes. It makes sense because while social media platforms may come and go (or change the algorithms) most of us will use the same email address forever.

This strategy presented me with a couple of problems. First, how would I, who is fairly inept at tech stuff create a newsletter? And second, what the hell would it even be about? The second problem proved harder to fix than the first (because I can do hard things when I’ve got YouTube to guide me). Coming up with a concept that would appeal to a wide audience, while remaining entertaining took a while. Especially since I held the very lofty goal of keeping it short, and for a writer this is not always easy.

But, guess what? I did it! I created a newsletter! It’s short! It’s engaging! It actually works! Don’t believe me? You should sign up and find out for yourself. Just hit the shiny new “Newsletter Sign Up” button in the footer. Or you can also click here and it will take you to the same form (though I am very proud of that Newsletter Sign Up button).

Thanks for supporting me! I’ll see you in your inbox soon. 🙂

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Grief is a gift

Tim Lynch

It’s been a year since I woke up to missed calls and texts from my sister and mom, asking me to call as soon as I got up. Yes, mom was okay. Yes, my nephews were fine. This was about my brother, Tim.

I remember my brain interpreting, “…the police are there, and Tim’s gone,” as he was missing, and we needed to find him. Until the words, “he passed away in his sleep,” sunk in and gave way to the shock, disbelief, and denial that ushered in my old friend, grief.

I’m no stranger to it. Is anyone? Loss and grief are universal, touching every person at some point. Whether it’s the end of a relationship or a life, grief slides into the picture when someone we love leaves it.

Life changes in the shadow of death. The grief descends, darkening everything else. It’s all-encompassing and inescapable. And yet, even in the darkest of times, I’ve found comfort. Grief didn’t make me darker: it blurred out the things that were no longer important so I could see the things that were. It framed my life with the perspective that time is uncertain and that I needed to change what I could to live the life I always wanted.

So that’s what I started to do.

One year later, his death remains a bruise embedded in my heart, and the pain of his absence throbs with every beat. But in that pain is a call to action to love harder, appreciate more, and live with a greater purpose, and to share this message:

Grief is a gift.
It moves me to feel.
It pushes me to breathe.
It wants me to live.
It reminds me I’m strong.
It grants me courage.
It fills me with hope.
It wipes away doubt.
It encourages my dreams.
It slows my anger.
It renews my faith.
It inspires me to live.

The best way I can honor my brother is to embrace the life that comes with grief. As long as I talk about him, write about him, paddle his kayak, crank up good music, dance at concerts, and live—Tim is still here. And he always will be.

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Father’s Day is hard

I dread Father’s Day. Not because I don’t like showering my amazing husband with love and attention and gifts (although I am by far the inferior gift-giver in our relationship). Celebrating him is the easy part. It’s the other father stuff that creeps in and makes it suck.

My father died seven years ago, but our relationship ended long before that. It had become a difficult one, marked by a final shouting match many years before his death in which I went low and he went lower. We hadn’t talked in a very long time due to those big emotions that often rule in relationships like ours, namely pride and anger. Pride kept him from accepting any apology I attempted, because how dare I say that thing to him. Anger came to my rescue because how could I not say it after what he said.

It wasn’t until I was sitting by his hospice bed, the bubbling of his breath the only indication that there was still life in him, that I realized all that anger was grief in disguise. The years I spent resenting him because he let me down. The time I wasted wondering what I ever did to make him not love me. The memories I swallowed because I didn’t understand why there weren’t more. I finally understood what they all meant. My father gave me what he could. He simply wasn’t capable of being what I wanted or needed or deserved. And while it wasn’t my fault, or maybe even his, it was the truth.

So in the hours before his rattling breath stopped, I put down some of that heavy baggage, took his hand, and told him I understood. In those moments alone with him, I turned away from anger and leaned into gratitude. I thanked him for being my dad and for giving me so many gifts:

My brothers and sisters who are some of my best friends;

My mom whose unconditional love more than made up for the absence of his; and

My life.

The tender bruise etched in my heart will always burst with fresh pain whenever I wonder what it might have been like if things were different and if he was different. But the lessons I learned from him, both the good and especially the bad, have helped make me the person and the parent I am today.

So thanks, Dad, for always having quarters so I could play Pacman. Thanks for taking me to get my driver’s license and teaching me about baseball, football, over-medium eggs, and French toast. And thanks for giving me life. Happy Father’s Day.

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The hardest thing I’ve ever written

No assignment or submission has ever been as hard to write as my brother’s obituary. As with any death, the loss has left a gaping hole. I am both relieved that Timmy did not suffer and angered that his sudden loss has made it impossible to say goodbye. All the moments we’ll never share and all the things we’ll never do have taken center stage in my heart and mind. I won’t be able to wish him a happy birthday in two days (and remind him of our 15-year age difference, as only a little sister can.) I can’t tell him about the last concert I attended or sit at my window seat and swap wildlife pictures across the miles.

Instead of doing the things I can’t, I did the one thing I can: write. And while he’ll never see it, or anything else I write from here on out, I know he appreciates the sentiment, the tears I typed through to get the words out, and the message of love and loss and hope I’ve tried to honor him with.

LITTLE EGG HARBOR, N.J. — Timothy P. Lynch passed away on May 8, 2023, at the age of 60. Tim will be remembered as an avid outdoorsman, who preferred the woods and waterways of the Pinelands to anywhere else. He was an artist in his career as a stonemason and in his photographs of nature. Tim’s pictures will serve as a constant reminder of his enduring love and appreciation for the wildlife that calls New Jersey home.

Tim was an eternal prankster. He smiled brightly. He laughed fully. He loved with his whole heart. He was a giver with no expectation of getting anything in return. He went out of his way to help anyone who needed it. Tim loved his dog, his garden, his kayak, his iPod full of music, and above all else, his family.

Tim was welcomed into heaven by his brother, Tommy, his uncles Bill and Jack Bergen, and his father, Thomas P. Lynch, Sr. He leaves behind his mother, Marilyn Lynch, sisters, Kathy Elliott, Laura Lynch, and Jen Sinclair, as well as numerous nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends.

Timmy will be missed, and his loss is not easy to accept. But we take comfort in knowing that he is shining his light down upon us and blessing us with his protection and presence every day until we meet again.

“Life without you…all the love you passed my way. The angels have waited for so long…now they have their way. Take your place.” Stevie Ray Vaughan

Rest in peace, Timmy.

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How someone else’s book launch party launched me

You are one decision away from an entirely different life. 

I’ve scribbled this Mel Robbins quote at least a dozen times since I came across it. I understand how one choice is all it takes to change the trajectory of a life. While I have many examples, bad and good, the one that springs to mind revolves around a book launch party.

I should start by saying that I am a true introvert who needs time alone to recharge and avoids new social situations at all costs. But a year ago, I promised to stop dragging my feet and make my writing a priority in 2022. When Tammy, a local author I had met once, scheduled her book release party on January 16th, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to further my 2022 goal.

But true to my introverted nature, panic shot through my nervous system as I drove to the launch party. I willed myself to keep the car moving forward instead of slamming on the brakes and going back. While I was nervous about this new social situation, I was terrified by the prospect of derailing my writing goals yet again.

I parked around the corner from the event and called Chris, my husband. I told him I couldn’t do it. It was going to be a disaster. My hands shook. A swelling lump suffocated me. I was sweating even though it was a mild day. Chris (always the calm to my storm) reminded me why this was important for me to do. He told me how strong I was, how cool it was that I got to do this and that he would get in the car and meet me in half an hour if that’s what it would take for me to go inside.

As he talked, my legs inched closer and closer to the door. Before I hung up, I told him I could do it but made him swear not to leave the phone just in case. And then there was nothing else for me to do except step inside. So, I did.

Here’s the thing that happens when you get brave—the universe somehow catches that wave of courage, and it rewards you. For me, it came in the form of Sheila, another writer I met at the local Women’s Fiction Writers Association get-together months before. She stepped right up and introduced me to two other writers with her, Kristi and Christel.

Before I knew it, I agreed to attend a write-in (whatever that was) at Sheila’s condo the following day. I remember calling Chris on my way home, giddy and saying something like, “Not only didn’t I die, but I’m going to hang out with them again tomorrow!” I felt like a kid coming home on the first day at a new school. Meeting people with the same passion and creative energy fed my own. Plus, it was nice not to feel so alone.

At Sheila’s the next day, she, along with Kristi and Christel, encouraged (read: FORCED) me to join a virtual WFWA write-in through Zoom. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I didn’t want to do it. Before I could come up with a viable escape plan, we were all Zooming and meeting with a larger part of the WFWA tribe. And again, a decision I made (albeit via peer pressure) sent my life further down the writing path.

In the year since my first write-in, I have come so far in this writing journey, buoyed by the connection with fellow writers, in-person and across Zoom. I’m querying a book I am proud of and want people to read! I’ve published essays! I’ve cannonballed into the deep end of the freelance writing pool and am building my business and creative portfolio. 

My journey isn’t anywhere near done. In fact, it’s just getting started. But, had I not walked into that book launch party, I would have still been stuck wanting what I now have: a group of friends and writing allies who mean the world to me and for whom I will always carry a heart full of gratitude.

Remember, You are one decision away from a completely different life.

And once you make that decision and start living that life, you will never want to go back.

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The Santa picture that broke me

We’ve all seen those silly Santa pictures and chuckled. I did, too, except I was also relieved that none of my kids behaved that way on Santa’s lap. Getting the perfect picture meant a lot to me. So much so that I would literally break a sweat making sure everyone looked as perfect as possible.

And then my youngest kid totally threw all of my planning out the window.

A month before his second birthday, I sat him on Santa’s lap, and, well … he absolutely was not having it. At all. Not even a little. And after about thirty seconds of absolute embarrassment and horror, something inside my tightly wound body snapped. It broke me. And it made me so much better.

I no longer put a whole lot of stock into catching my kids at their worst. It meant more to me that each picture captured who they were at that particular moment in their lives. My daughter’s kindergarten picture day came exactly three days after she launched herself from the swingset and scraped her chin all to hell. My oldest’s third-grade picture day happened right after his dad shaved his head down to the scalp. My youngest has blessed us with some of the most memorable pictures purely by being his emotive self.

Insider gave me the chance to talk about how that Santa picture broke me and made me better. I now have a deeper appreciation for those snaps that capture authenticity rather than obsessing over the appearance of perfection.

Did you have a moment like this in your parenting journey? I would love to hear about it if you do.

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Divorce as a SAHM

If your relationship has been declining, you may not want to consider that you’re headed toward a divorce. But this is exactly when you need to start thinking about your future without your spouse. A little preparation can go a long way in formulating and executing a successful exit strategy. This is especially crucial when you have children and no tangible financial way to independently support them.

I know a little bit about this because, in the year preceding my divorce, the alarm bells continuously sounded. Every day, there was some further sign that my marriage was ending. Soon, instead of wondering what would happen if I got a divorce, it changed to what would happen when I got a divorce. And that forced me to make some plans.

I was a stay-at-home mom then, with three kids from 10 years old down to a newborn. We didn’t have a ton of money, but not having any of my own was downright terrifying. I let the terror paralyze me for a little while until one day, I knew I had to act. If I wanted to put myself in a better financial (and mental) place to go through a separation and divorce, I needed to build up some resources.

Mother Untitled gave me some space on their website to share how I got through those trying times. Divorce is an emotional and mental rollercoaster. But doing it when you don’t have a paycheck in your name feels like you’re riding that coaster without a seatbelt. With a little planning and a few actions, you can give yourself a lap bar to provide some measure of stability during your divorce.

Do you have any pre-divorce preparation tips you wish you knew at the time?

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The Ghost of Boyfriends Past

We all have relationships that we would LOVE to go back and erase. Stop our former selves from ever even looking in the direction of that person to save us from a whole lotta heartache, stress, frustration and pain.

And then there are those former loves who never actually leave our hearts. All sorts of things conjure those memories–a song, a mutual friend, a favorite sports team. Those are the relationships we might like a chance to do over. Most of the time, though, we don’t get that opportunity, so we continue to pine away for what might have been.

However, I did get a second chance to reconnect and try out a past relationship in a more mature headspace. And Insider gave me chance to spill the beans on that time I ghosted a guy in high school and went on to marry him 17 years later. Shout-out to my husband for being so cool with the fact that I’m sharing some of his pain with the world. What guy wouldn’t want to be outed for listening to Exposé when he was 16? I wonder if this is why he stopped making eye contact with our neighbors?

Your turn: Do you have a long-lost love that you still think about? Even if you’re in a good space, do you sometimes wonder if only things had been different? Or have you ghosted someone who absolutely deserved it for one reason or another. Drop me a line and fill me in on the good and the bad of your ghosts of past relationships.