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Category: Dear Diary

Dear Diary: Write a blog entry from one of my characters in any book, published or not.

A Year Later… Still Motivated

A year ago, I wrote about what motivates me. Looking back, I’m grateful to see that the answer hasn’t changed. If anything, those motivations have grown stronger.

When I shared that post, I was deep in the process of rediscovering old manuscripts, research notes, and book ideas that had been tucked away for years. I remember the excitement of opening files and finding page after page of material I had forgotten I’d written. I also remember the frustration of running into corrupted files and forgotten passwords. Some days felt like a treasure hunt, and others felt like a dead end.

A year later, I can honestly say the treasure hunt continues.

I’ve spent many hours revisiting stories, organizing notes, and trying to bring some order to decades of work. What has surprised me most is not how much I wrote, but how much those stories still matter to me. Each manuscript represents an idea, a lesson, or a piece of history that I felt was important enough to preserve. Time has not diminished that feeling.

My family remains my greatest motivation. Every grandchild, every child, every ancestor whose story deserves to be remembered continues to inspire me. There are now even more branches on our family tree than there were when I first made that list of books for our grandchildren. Seeing our family grow reminds me why I started this project in the first place.

I’ve often thought about those ancestor stories I hoped to write. Some tell of courage. Some tell of sacrifice. Others tell of ordinary people who quietly endured hardships so future generations could have better lives. The older I get, the more I appreciate those ordinary heroes. Their stories deserve to be told.

I still feel a sense of urgency. Not the kind that creates panic, but the kind that encourages purpose. There are only so many hours in a day, and there are still many stories waiting to be written. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by what remains unfinished, I’ve learned to be grateful for every page completed and every memory preserved.

Financial challenges haven’t magically disappeared. They remain a reality, just as they were a year ago. But I’ve learned that progress isn’t measured only by money. It’s measured by persistence, determination, and the willingness to keep moving forward one step at a time.

Most importantly, my faith continues to sustain me. I still draw strength from the love of my Heavenly Father and from the love of family, both past and present. Those gifts continue to motivate me on difficult days and encourage me on the good ones.

So, a year later, I’m still here. Still writing. Still researching. Still believing these stories have a purpose and an audience, even if I don’t yet know who that audience may be.

And for that, I am grateful.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. And thank you for encouraging me along the way.


August 20, 2025

PROMPT:What motivates you?PROMPT: What motivates you?

Prompt: What motivates you?

The prompt’s question for today is: what motivates you? I can easily answer this question. What motivates me is the love of my family. It’s the love I feel from my Heavenly Father. It’s also the love I feel when I think of our Founding Fathers.

Each expression of love comes from deep inside me—deeper than my heart. I’ve felt the lack of that love from each, and it’s even more precious because I feel like I’m missing out. Not necessarily because of anything they are doing, or not doing, but because of my own misgivings.

I am very motivated to work on these manuscripts I’ve had, some, for a very long time. I want as many of them I can find to be prepared for my family to publish, if I can’t do it myself. I have a strong impression that these books each have an important message to give. To whom, I don’t know. Maybe its my family, maybe its someone I don’t know. But this has been a motivating force in my life for a while now. 

It is such a joy to open a file and discover that there’s a lot of material I left for myself to use. So much research! 

On the other hand, it is excruciatingly painful to see that the file is corrupted or I have forgotten the password. Yes, that hurts. But enough of them have opened successfully, that I’m on a cloud. 

I am not talking about one or two books. Nope, I had plans to write one book for each of our grandchildren, and dedicate it to that child. At the time, we had 16 grandchildren. I found the list. It included each child’s name and the topic of the book I intended to write. Each of the protagonists in the stories was an actual ancestor of that child.

For many years, genealogy was my hobby. I loved collecting the names and stories of our ancestors, many of them tragic, some uplifting, and I wanted a way to share this with our grandchildren.

So, all this is my motivating factor. I hope to complete as many as possible. And I’m in a hurry to do it. The only thing keeping me from fulfilling this is finances – a big hurdle these days, but one I’m determined to overcome.

Thanks for being here. And thanks for reading! Feel free to share please. 

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✨ One Year Later: An Update on What Motivates Me

About a year ago, I wrote a post about what motivates me. My answer then was simple: love. The love of my family, the love of my Heavenly Father, and the love I feel when I think of our Founding Fathers. I also shared my determination to organize and complete the many manuscripts and research projects I had accumulated over the years.

Today, I can happily report that I have made progress.

Not as much as I would like, perhaps, but enough to remind me that every step forward matters.

Over the past year, I have opened more forgotten files, rediscovered more research, and spent countless hours revisiting projects that I once feared might never see the light of day. Some of those old documents have turned out to be treasures. Others have required patience, reconstruction, and a little detective work. That’s all part of the adventure.

What continues to amaze me is the amount of material I gathered over the years. Every folder seems to lead to another story, another ancestor, another idea worth preserving. Sometimes I wonder what my younger self was thinking when I started all of this. Then I find a note or outline and realize I was trying to leave something meaningful behind.

The dream of writing books connected to our grandchildren remains very much alive. Those stories, built around real ancestors and real lives, still matter to me. Perhaps even more than before. The older I get, the more I appreciate how easily family stories can be lost if someone doesn’t take the time to preserve them.

My sense of urgency has not diminished. If anything, it has grown stronger. But I’ve also learned that progress doesn’t happen all at once. It happens one page, one chapter, one recovered file, and one remembered story at a time.

Financial challenges are still real. Life still finds ways to interrupt even the best-laid plans. Yet I remain determined. The motivation that drove me a year ago is still here. In fact, I think it may be stronger now because I can finally see evidence that the work is moving forward.

So what motivates me today?

The answer is still love.

Love for my family. Love for the stories of those who came before us. Love for the generations that will come after us. And the hope that something I write may someday inspire, comfort, or help someone else understand who they are and where they came from.

That seems like a worthy reason to keep going.

Thanks for being here, and thanks for reading.

Feel free to share.

Shirley


Aug. 20, 2025


“What motivates you?”The prompt’s question for today is: what motivates you? I can easily answer this question.

What motivates me is the love of my family. It’s the love I feel from my Heavenly Father. It’s also the love I feel when I think of our Founding Fathers.

Each expression of love comes from deep inside me—deeper than my heart. I’ve felt the lack of that love from each, and it’s even more precious because I feel like I’m missing out. Not necessarily because of anything they are doing, or not doing, but because of my own misgivings.

I am very motivated to work on these manuscripts I’ve had, some, for a very long time. I want as many of them I can find to be prepared for my family to publish, if I can’t do it myself. I have a strong impression that these books each have an important message to give. To whom, I don’t know. Maybe its my family, maybe its someone I don’t know. But this has been a motivating force in my life for a while now. 

It is such a joy to open a file and discover that there’s a lot of material I left for myself to use. So much research! 

On the other hand, it is excruciatingly painful to see that the file is corrupted or I have forgotten the password. Yes, that hurts. But enough of them have opened successfully, that I’m on a cloud. 

I am not talking about one or two books. Nope, I had plans to write one book for each of our grandchildren, and dedicate it to that child. At the time, we had 16 grandchildren. I found the list. It included each child’s name and the topic of the book I intended to write. Each of the protagonists in the stories was an actual ancestor of that child.

For many years, genealogy was my hobby. I loved collecting the names and stories of our ancestors, many of them tragic, some uplifting, and I wanted a way to share this with our grandchildren.

So, all this is my motivating factor. I hope to complete as many as possible. And I’m in a hurry to do it. The only thing keeping me from fulfilling this is finances – a big hurdle these days, but one I’m determined to overcome.

Thanks for being here. And thanks for reading! Feel free to share please. 

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✨ One Year Later

One year ago, on August 19, 2025, I wrote an update during a season of rebuilding — physically, creatively, and spiritually. Reading it again this week, in the middle of my anniversary emotions and all the memories that come with it, reminded me how much has changed and how much God has carried me through.

At that time, I was recovering from CKD stage 4 and learning to work within the rhythms of my health. Today, I’m back in stage 4 again, and while that is difficult, it has also deepened my understanding of resilience. I continue to honor the quiet days and celebrate the creative ones. This journey still teaches me patience, strength, and grace.

Last year, I was searching for an illustrator. Today, I’ve found a workable rhythm using NightCafe for my artwork. It has allowed me to keep moving forward without the financial strain of hiring an artist. I still hope to collaborate with a young illustrator someday — especially someone who feels connected to the stories — but for now, this path has given me freedom and momentum.

And the creative growth… I never expected this much to bloom in just one year. The George Washington children’s book — inspired by my great‑granddaughter in her bright red patriotic dress — has grown into a full project. My Bedtime Story book is almost ready for publishing. I’ve created an adult coloring book, nearly finished a second mandala coloring book, and designed six “Walking with Christ” journals featuring artwork that reflects every stage of life. I’ve built an Acadian clip‑art book and several other projects that weren’t even imagined a year ago.

Looking back at the post from August 19, 2025, I see a woman hoping for progress. Today, I see a woman who has built an entire shelf of books, journals, and art — one gentle step at a time.

Here is the post exactly as it appeared one year ago.


August 19, 2025


Hi, everyone! I’m excited to share the second installment of my author blog. Let’s dive in! My sleep disorder has posed challenges, but it has forged resilience and adaptability within me. There are nights when I wake up around 10:00 or 11:00, yet I’ve learned to embrace those quiet moments and reflect on what I cherish most.

This journey, though isolating at times, has illuminated the strength found in the cycles of my health. When I feel “well,” I seize the opportunity to immerse myself in writing, gathering rich material for my stories and eager to unleash my creativity.

Moving to East Texas brought a long stretch of limited activity, but I emerged with invaluable lessons in perseverance. Surviving heat stroke and battling Covid twice revealed the immense power of prayer and community support, helping me recover from stage 4 to stage 3.

Recently, a video from my daughter featuring my great-granddaughter in her bright red patriotic dress filled me with inspiration. Her exuberance rekindled my passion for the stories I hold dear. Now, I am diligently working to get my books published!

I am actively seeking an illustrator, reaching out to past collaborators, and my husband has explored local high school resources. The art department head was impressed with my story and suggested involving a student—what a brilliant idea!

I am determined to move forward quickly and will be following up soon. Stay tuned for more updates on my creative journey!

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Katelyn’s Assignment

The moment Katelyn arrived in the Afterplace—somewhere between heaven and the warm glow of a memory—she was handed a clipboard.

She blinked at it. “A clipboard? Seriously? I thought angels had, like, scrolls. Or glowing tablets. Something fancy.”

A tall, shimmering attendant smiled at her. “We tried tablets. Everyone kept dropping them through clouds. You’re assigned to a case.”

“A case?” Katelyn flipped the page. “Am I… a guardian angel?”

“Technically,” the attendant said, “you’re a Preventative Guidance Specialist.”

Katelyn snorted. “So… a guardian angel with a sense of humor.”

“Exactly why we picked you.”

She looked down at the file. A photo of a girl—beautiful, long-legged, with the kind of cheekbones that made makeup artists weep—was clipped to the top.

Name: Lila Hart
Age: 18
Occupation: Model
Risk Level: High
Primary Temptation: Party drugs, peer pressure, bad decisions involving boys with jawlines too sharp to be trusted.

Katelyn raised an eyebrow. “Oh, she’s me at eighteen. Except taller. And probably better at eyeliner.”

“She needs someone who understands her,” the attendant said. “Someone who can speak her language.”

Katelyn sighed, but her heart warmed. “Okay. I’ll help her.”

“And Katelyn?” the attendant added gently. “You’re allowed to use humor. It’s one of your gifts.”

“Oh, I plan to,” she said, flipping her hair like she was about to walk onto a runway.


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Chapter One: The Baggie Incident

Lila Hart was sitting on the edge of her bed in her tiny New York apartment, staring at a little plastic baggie. The contents sparkled—not in a magical way, but in a this-will-ruin-your-life way.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her new modeling friends:

Party tonight. Bring the stuff.

Lila swallowed hard.

That’s when Katelyn appeared.

Not with trumpets. Not with glowing wings. She simply shimmered into existence like a sunbeam deciding to take human form.

“Hey,” Katelyn said casually.

Lila screamed, fell backward, and hit her head on a pillow—thankfully.

“Who—what—how—”

“I’m your… guidance counselor,” Katelyn said, waving her clipboard. “From the Afterplace.”

“The what?”

“It’s like heaven,” Katelyn said. “But with better lighting.”

Lila blinked. “Am I dead?”

“Nope. But you’re about to make choices that could get you there early, and trust me, the onboarding process is long.”

Lila stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“Oh, I joke constantly,” Katelyn said. “But not about this.”

She plucked the baggie from Lila’s hand, sniffed it, made a face, and swapped it with another baggie she pulled from her pocket.

“There,” she said. “Prenatal vitamins.”

Lila blinked. “Prenatal vitamins?”

“Yep. They’re good for your hair, nails, and future babies you’re not having yet. Also, they won’t kill you.”

Lila stared at the new baggie. “Why do you have prenatal vitamins in a baggie?”

Katelyn shrugged. “I like to be prepared.”


Chapter Two: Text Message Sabotage

Lila’s phone buzzed again.

You coming?

Katelyn snatched the phone and typed:

I can’t go to the party tonight; I’m eating carbs.

Lila gasped. “You can’t send that! They’ll think I’m weird!”

“They already think you’re weird,” Katelyn said. “You’re a model who eats. That’s practically rebellious.”

The phone buzzed again.

lol girl u ok?

Katelyn typed back:

No. I’m emotionally fragile and retaining water.

Lila grabbed the phone. “STOP!”

Katelyn grinned. “Look, if they’re your real friends, they’ll laugh. If they’re not, they’ll stop inviting you to parties with drugs. Win-win.”

Lila sank onto the bed. “Why do you care?”

Katelyn softened. “Because I know what it’s like to be young and scared and trying to fit in. And because I know what it’s like to make choices that hurt your heart.”

Lila looked up. “Your heart?”

Katelyn nodded. “Yeah. Mine gave out. I didn’t know how sick I was. I didn’t know how much damage I’d done. I thought I had more time.”

Her voice trembled, but she steadied herself.

“I don’t want that for you.”


Screenshot

Chapter Three: The Rooftop

A week later, Lila stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, staring at the city lights. She’d avoided the parties. She’d avoided the baggies. She’d even started taking the prenatal vitamins, which made her hair look amazing.

Katelyn appeared beside her, sitting cross-legged on the ledge.

“You’re doing good,” she said.

Lila shrugged. “I still feel tempted sometimes.”

“Of course you do,” Katelyn said. “Temptation doesn’t disappear. It just gets quieter when you stop feeding it.”

Lila sighed. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Katelyn nudged her shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone.”

Lila looked at her. “Did you have anyone?”

Katelyn smiled softly. “I had my grandmother. She told me death wasn’t scary. She told me loved ones would greet me. She gave me peace when I was terrified.”

Lila swallowed. “You miss her?”

“Every day,” Katelyn said. “But she’s here. In the Afterplace. And she’s proud of me. And she’d be proud of you.”

Lila’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish I had someone like that.”

“You do,” Katelyn said. “Me.”


Chapter Four: The Party That Wasn’t

One night, Lila’s phone buzzed again.

Big party tonight. VIP only. You in?

She hesitated.

Katelyn appeared instantly. “No.”

“But—”

“Nope.”

“They’ll think I’m boring.”

“They already think you’re boring,” Katelyn said. “You’re a model who reads books.”

Lila laughed. “I don’t read books.”

“You will,” Katelyn said. “I’m manifesting it.”

Lila sighed. “I just… want to belong.”

Katelyn took her hand. “You belong to yourself. And someday, you’ll find people who love you for who you are—not for what you bring in a baggie.”

Lila nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay home.”

“Good,” Katelyn said. “We’re watching a movie.”

“What movie?”

“Something with no drugs, no heartbreak, and no boys named Chase.”

“Why Chase?”

“Trust me,” Katelyn said. “Never Chase.”


Chapter Five: The Confession

Weeks passed. Lila grew stronger. She started eating real meals. She slept more. She laughed more. She even met a sweet boy who didn’t party, didn’t pressure her, and didn’t have a dangerous jawline.

One night, she asked Katelyn, “Why me?”

Katelyn smiled. “Because you remind me of myself. Because you’re beautiful and bright and full of potential. And because you’re standing at the edge of a cliff I once fell off.”

Lila swallowed. “Did you regret it? The drugs?”

Katelyn nodded. “Yes. Not because I was bad. Not because I was weak. But because I didn’t know how much I was hurting myself. I didn’t know how fragile my heart was. I didn’t know how much time I was losing.”

Lila’s eyes filled. “I don’t want to lose time.”

“You won’t,” Katelyn said. “Not if you keep choosing life.”


Chapter Six: The Saving

One night, Lila got a call from her old party friends.

Come out. Just one night. No pressure.

She hesitated.

Katelyn appeared instantly. “Talk to me.”

“I… I kind of want to go.”

“Why?”

“I miss feeling included.”

Katelyn took her face in her hands. “You are included. In your own future. In your own dreams. In your own story.”

Lila trembled. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Katelyn whispered. “But fear is a sign you’re about to grow.”

Lila nodded. “Okay. I won’t go.”

Katelyn smiled. “Good girl.”

Lila exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life.”

Katelyn’s eyes softened. “I didn’t save your life. You did. I just nudged you toward the light.”


Chapter Seven: The Goodbye

One morning, Lila woke up and felt something different. The air was still. The room was quiet.

Katelyn stood by the window, glowing softly.

“You’re leaving,” Lila whispered.

Katelyn nodded. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Lila’s eyes filled. “But I want you.”

Katelyn smiled gently. “I’ll always be around. Just not in person. You’ll hear me in your instincts. In your laughter. In your better choices.”

Lila swallowed. “Will I see you again?”

“Someday,” Katelyn said. “But not for a long, long time.”

Lila hugged her tightly. “I love you.”

Katelyn held her close. “I love you too. And I’m proud of you.”

She pulled back, winked, and said, “And remember—never Chase.”

Then she shimmered, sparkled, and vanished like a sunbeam deciding it had somewhere else to be.


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Epilogue

Years later, Lila Hart became a successful model—not the kind who partied, but the kind who inspired young girls to love themselves.

She married the sweet boy with the safe jawline.

She had a daughter with thick, beautiful hair—thanks to prenatal vitamins.

And sometimes, when she stood on a rooftop at sunset, she felt a warm glow beside her.

A presence.

A laugh.

A whisper: “I’m still here.”

And she smiled, knowing she had been saved by a guardian angel with a clipboard, a sense of humor, and a heart that still shone bright.


Dedicated to my beautiful granddaughter, Katelyn, who is on the other side.

Katelyn Ulbrich

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Learning How Not to Worry: Breaking the Habit for Good

Worry feels like an unavoidable part of life, but learning how not to worry is absolutely possible, I’m learning. Most of us aren’t born worriers — we simply practice worry until it becomes familiar. The good news is that habits can be unlearned, and calmer patterns can take their place.


Understanding Whether Worrying Is Actually Useful

Not all worry is harmful. Some worry nudges us to take responsible action — paying a bill, making a doctor’s appointment, or preparing for a difficult conversation. This is all productive worry, and it helps us to stay engaged with life.

The other kind — the kind that loops endlessly in your mind (that can make us crazy!) — is unproductive worry. It drains your energy, steals your focus, and usually centers on things you cannot control. This is so harmful, especially if we’re already compromised, like I am, with a debilitating illness.

Learning how not to worry begins with asking one simple question:

Is this something I can take action on, or something I’m imagining, fearing, or rehearsing?

If action is possible, take even one tiny “baby” step. Action of any size interrupts anxiety.


If action is not possible, remind yourself gently: “I’ve done what I can. The rest is not mine to carry.” You could also say, “I’m giving it to the Lord to carry for me. I’ve done all I can.”

This self‑talk isn’t denial — it’s boundary‑setting for your mind.


Try Setting Aside Dedicated “Worry Time”

If your thoughts feel crowded, try giving your worries a scheduled place to land. This technique is used in cognitive‑behavioral therapy and can be surprisingly effective.

Choose a consistent time each day — maybe when your partner is home and you can talk things through, or a quiet half hour in the evening. During this time, write down your worries, think them through, or brainstorm solutions.

Outside of that window, when worry pops up, remind yourself:
“Not now. I’ll think about this during my worry time.”

This helps your brain learn that worry is not welcome everywhere.


Catch Yourself in the Act of Worrying

Most worry happens automatically. You’re washing dishes, scrolling your phone, or trying to work — and suddenly your mind is spiraling out of control.

Learning how not to worry means learning to notice when your thoughts drift. This can be hard at first, but the more you practice, the easier it’ll get, I promise.

A few gentle ways to catch yourself:

  • Place a small reminder on your desk — a sticker, a word, or a symbol.
  • Keep a grounding phrase nearby, like “Return to now.”
  • Notice physical cues: tight shoulders, shallow breathing, or a racing mind.

You won’t catch every worry immediately, but you’ll catch it sooner each time. Awareness is a skill, and as I said, it strengthens with practice.


Be Patient With Yourself

Breaking the worry habit takes time. At first, these strategies may feel awkward or ineffective. That’s totally normal. You’re retraining your brain, and new pathways take repetition.

Over time, you’ll notice that redirecting your thoughts becomes easier, your mind feels lighter, and your emotional energy lasts longer throughout the day.

Learning how not to worry isn’t about perfection — it’s about reclaiming your peace, one thought at a time. My prayers are with you, my friend. Please let me know if any of this helps, or not. I’ll be happy to post more of what I’m learning or have learned in my 70 + years on this earth.


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Writing Through the Fog

A gentle reflection for the weary, creative heart

Some days, creativity arrives like a sunrise — warm, bright, eager to spill across the page. And some days… it doesn’t. Some days feel foggy, heavy, slow. The mind moves like it’s wading through water, and even simple tasks feel like lifting stones.

I used to think foggy days meant failure. That if I couldn’t write with clarity, I shouldn’t write at all. But over time — through journals, prayer, quiet nights in Hawkins, and the soft glow of a candle on my bedside table — I’ve learned something gentler:

Fog doesn’t mean the light is gone. It only means the light is diffused.

On fog-days, creativity doesn’t disappear. It whispers.

It shows up in smaller ways:
a sentence that feels true,
a memory that rises unannounced,
a color you suddenly notice,
a prayer that steadies your breath.

These moments matter. They are seeds. And seeds don’t need bright sun to grow — they need presence, patience, and a little faith.

I’ve learned to write differently on fog-days. Not with pressure, but with softness. I let myself write in fragments, in half-thoughts, in gentle notes that may become something later. I let myself rest when I need to. I let myself trust that creativity is still alive, even when it feels quiet.

This is how the Fog-Day & Best-Day Wellness Journal was born — from the realization that life isn’t all clarity or all chaos. It’s both. And both deserve space.

If you’re reading this and you’ve been in a fog — creatively, emotionally, spiritually — I hope you hear this:

You are simply moving through a softer season, and there is beauty here too.

And when the best-days come — because they always do — you’ll have a trail of small, faithful notes that show you just how strong you were in the quiet.

You are not behind.
You are not failing.
You are not forgotten.

Write one sentence.
Light one candle.
Take one breath.
Let the fog be a place where God meets you gently.

Keep writing, even through the fog.
Your light is still here.
It’s just wrapped in softness today.

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Midnight Musings: Rediscovering Canva in the Witching Hours

Hey there, fellow night owls and creative souls! It’s Shirley here, tapping away from my cozy corner in Hawkins, Texas, where the stars are out and the world is quiet. It’s been a hot minute since I last posted—life has a way of throwing curveballs, doesn’t it? But tonight (or should I say this early morning?), I’m feeling inspired to share a little update on my latest adventure: diving back into Canva.

You know, as an author, I’ve always loved weaving words into stories that transport readers. But lately, I’ve been craving a visual twist to complement my writing. Enter Canva—the design tool that’s like a playground for the imagination. I’m relearning it from scratch, and let me tell you, it’s both exhilarating and a tad overwhelming. Remember those first days of discovering drag-and-drop magic? The templates, the fonts, the endless color palettes? I’m right back there, experimenting with book covers for my next manuscript and even some fun graphics for social media shares.

Pro tip: If you’re rusty like me, start with their tutorials—they’re bite-sized and perfect for short bursts of creativity.

But here’s the real talk: My schedule isn’t exactly ideal for this. For reasons I won’t bore you with (though I’d love to grill the universe about it someday—hey heaven, why the short end of the stick on sleep?), I’m only awake about four hours out of every 24. And those hours? Always after midnight, when the rest of the world is dreaming. It’s like living in my own personal twilight zone. On one hand, the silence fuels focus—no distractions, just me, my laptop, and that soft glow from the screen. On the other, I wish I had more time to explore, to iterate, to let ideas marinate. Four hours fly by when you’re knee-deep in aligning elements or hunting for the perfect stock photo.

Still, I’m making it work. Canva’s mobile app has been a lifesaver for those groggy moments when I can’t sit at my desk. And honestly, these late-night sessions have sparked some unexpected gems—designs that feel more raw and authentic, born from the quiet hours when my mind wanders freely. If you’re dealing with your own time constraints, whether from health, work, or just life’s chaos, know this: Progress doesn’t need a full day. A few dedicated hours can move mountains… or at least create a stunning Instagram post.

What’s next? I’m aiming to incorporate more visuals into my author journey—maybe some mood boards for characters or teaser graphics for upcoming releases. If you have Canva hacks or favorite features, drop them in the comments! I’d love to hear how you’re blending creativity with whatever curveballs come your way.

Until next time (hopefully sooner than later), keep creating in the cracks of time you’ve got.

Sweet dreams—or good morning, depending on when you read this.

A little diddi I made up!
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Dear Diary: A Glimmer in Misty’s Emerald Coast

Below is an introduction in the form of a diary post of one of my favorite characters, Misty the Mermaid of the Emerald Coast – and from my first set of published books.


Date: September 20

Dear Diary,

The Emerald Coast sparkles today, its turquoise waves dancing above my coral cave like a quilt of light. I woke to the hum of the Gulf, my tail fin flicking against the smooth limestone walls of my home, their pink and green corals glowing faintly in the dawn’s glow. My long yellow hair floated free, tangling with a stray anemone, and I giggled, brushing it away. The cave’s nooks hold my treasures—shiny shells, my precious tiara, a cracked pearl comb, and a human bottle etched with strange words. I’m maybe 16 in mermaid years, but time feels different down here, fluid like the tides.

Moriah, my loggerhead turtle bestie, nudged me awake, her wise eyes twinkling under her mottled shell. “Adventure time?” she bubbled, her flippers stirring sand. We swam out, weaving through seagrass swaying like temple banners, the water cool and salty on my scales. I spotted a school of parrotfish, their colors popping like Mom’s stories of beautiful gardens. I hummed a hymn—something about faith moving mountains—and checked my kelp nets for breakfast. Found a plump oyster, cracked it open, and shared the juicy bit with Moriah.

A dolphin pod zipped by, chattering about a storm brewing topside. I tightened my nets, remembering last week’s current that scattered my shells. Moriah and I patrolled the reef, her flippers steady as I darted between corals, my tail flashing like a beacon. A human boat’s shadow passed overhead, and Moriah hid, her heart racing—humans are curious, but their nets scare her. I nudged her, trying to calm her as always. “You’re braver than you think,” I said.

We noticed Mrs. Clownfish preparing her nest, so she must be getting excited for the new arrivals coming soon. It’s so much fun to have little clownfish around.

Later, back in my cave, I carved a new shell with my coral knife, sketching waves. The Gulf’s song lulls me tonight, promising tomorrow’s adventures. Moriah’s waiting by the cave mouth to say goodnight, guarding me like family. I’m grateful for this undersea world, my faith, and my friend.

Till tomorrow,

Misty

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