Have you ever had so much fun with words that you've made up one or two, or more? I like to refer to banannas as banaynays. What is your favorite made up or misconzounsed word?

I’m working on becoming a better and more consistent writer, and one of the reasons I joined this community was to connect with other authors who are figuring things out too. I’m interested in sharing ideas, talking about what’s working, being honest about the parts that are difficult, and learning from each other along the way. I just enjoy conversations about writing and the process behind it. What’s something you’ve been struggling with in your writing lately?

Y’all, this is by far my favorite story. I am writing a continuation of this story because it flowed and opened up so well. May you be Blessed as I am. After all that she had suffered or lost, her life was about to change for the better. The morning air was crisp, and as she laced up her shoes, the heavy silence that used to fill her room finally felt like peace instead of loneliness. She pushed open the front door and stepped onto the porch. The world outside hadn’t changed—the old maple tree still shed its golden leaves onto the drive, and the distant hum of early traffic remained—but she had. Reaching into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth brass key to the tiny studio space downtown. It was modest, rough around the edges, and entirely hers. With a deep breath that filled her lungs for what felt like the first time in months, she set off down the sidewalk, her footsteps light against the pavement. Maya couldn’t wait to get to the studio to start the painting she was planning the moment she got there. As she unlocked the heavy glass door, the familiar scent of linseed oil and fresh canvas greeted her like an old friend. Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows, illuminating the blank canvas resting on the easel in the center of the room. She set her bag down, rolled up her sleeves, and squeezed bright, vibrant ribbons of paint onto her wooden palette. As Maya started painting with purple, gold, and lavender, she noticed how the colors blended well together, making her feel calm. She could just imagine the smooth, radiant glisten of the colors becoming so much more than she ever realized. With every movement of her wrist, the heavy violet bled into soft lavender, while streaks of gold caught the morning light like sunshine breaking through clouds. The canvas was turning into a quiet sanctuary, reflecting the peace she was finally allowing herself to feel. The paint glided across the texture of the linen, creating sweeping, radiant waves that looked almost alive.

I have noticed that sometimes the hardest part of writing isn’t coming up with ideas or even knowing what needs to be done. It’s sitting down and getting into the writing mindset, especially when life, work, and everything else gets in the way. Do you have a routine that helps you get into writing mode, or do you just write whenever you can find the time? What’s the one thing that helps you stay consistent with your writing?

This was a really fun one to do. The prompt was an object! What kind of stories can you come up with an object? You may not see Bubbles the pen as something vital to you. However, for some people it is a vital part of their day. In fact, authors, composers, artists, and journalists use this vital object; just to name a few. In this story, let’s get to know Bubbles, the Red Pen! The pen I write with is red, and I decided to name her Bubbles. You see Bubbles has been with me for a little while now. She loves sliding on the page, turning with every stroke that I write. In fact, Bubbles loves to see each adventure as it unfolds with each new character and scene of a story that is written. What Bubbles likes best is the gratitude list that is made almost every day. Feeling the emotions of each character and recording the gratitude for each day made Bubbles feel so bubbly that she could hardly contain her excitement. However, Bubbles is grateful for the rest she gets because it sure is tiring by the end of the writing. One day, Bubbles awoke to the familiar feeling of being picked up and placed on the page. She tries once. Nothing.
 She tries again. Still nothing.
She wonders what’s wrong.
She begins to wonder if she will ever write again.
 Her owner realized what was wrong and replaced what Bubbles needed. Suddenly, Bubbles felt a jolt of energy as she glided along the curves and turns of the strokes on the page. Bubbles lived for this excitement. She always loved the way she could move, twist, turn, color, and so much more. Sometimes we aren’t broken. Sometimes we’re simply empty and need to be refilled. Bubbles isn’t valuable because she’s a red pen. She’s valuable because of what she is able to do when she has what she needs. “Am I broken, or am I simply empty and in need of being refilled?”