I’ve been experimenting with Nightcafe and am so happy at the way this has turned out.
My prayer is that, when the time comes, I will be greeted by my own children whom I have lost, foster children who passed away in my home, and all the multitudes of ancestors I’ve done the work for.
The tragic Acadians lost in the diaspora called The Great Dispersal that drove many to Louisiana.
To the Ancestors who came to the New World from France and dug trenches called dykes in Nova Scotia. All of these contributed to my bloodline, on both sides of my parents.
One, a veritable hero, Beausoleil Broussard, my direct ancestor that I happen to share with Beyoncé.
Another ancestor, unnamed due to threat of shaming, an ancestor who was the unknowing carrier of the deaf blind and balance scourge of many Cajuns, Usher Syndrome. Another, Tay Sachs syndrome, shared by tight-knit Jewish communities.
To my Louisiana Ancestors, who braved yellow fever, great storms and hurricanes, and sweltering heat. Worst of all, the mosquitoes who ravaged bodies with yellow fever. Even the awful monster, leprosy, inhabited so many bodies, clinics still exist in Louisiana. Yet, they survived. With their celebrations at Mardi Gras, and family crawfish boils, along with cotton picking parties and Saturday night dance halls. My childhood was filled with such great memories! In fact, I was nearly born on my grandfather’s shrimp boat on New Year’s Eve night. The shrimp were running so good, nobody except Mama was in a hurry to get off that boat! I just barely made it to the hospital at Lafayette General (called Charity Hospital at the time. The building’s still there.)
To my one line of Irishmen, the Pepper’s, who came right after the great potato starvation time, who first witnessed persecution, and then, founded a good life of blacksmithing. (My grandmother’s grandmother wasn’t allowed to speak in her native tongue, even at home, but my mother recalls her beautiful “sing-song” accent in her Cajun speak.)
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.
Maybe you’ll set a goal for this new year. Some people choose a word to represent their intentions for the year ahead. This year, our family will be focusing on the same verse of scripture: Moses 6:34, “Walk with me.” This was an invitation given to the prophet Enoch.
As Enoch journeyed through the land, the Spirit of God rested upon him. Then the Lord spoke to him. He taught him about His plan of happiness, which would give purpose and meaning to life. Everyone longs to have better and deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. When the Lord finished describing His plan, He gave Enoch an invitation: “Walk with me.”
As you journey through this new year, maybe you’ll find yourself looking for happiness, purpose, and meaning. We could all learn from Enoch’s story and invite the Lord to be part of our journeys this year, no matter where we go…or stay.
As you might already know, I have been dealing with Chronic Kidney Disease. I’m thankful to still be here, as I’ve got much to do. I hope to use my time wisely, so I’ll be ready when the time comes.
You could choose to walk with Him. As you do, blessings await. I’m sure each of us will be better for it, if we determine for ourselves that we will walk with the Lord.
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”These words, sung softly from a mother to her child in Robert Munsch’s timeless Love You Forever, have lulled countless families into moments of quiet wonder. They’ve been whispered over cradles, read under covers during stormy nights, and passed down like heirlooms, turning ordinary pages into vessels of unbreakable connection. But what many don’t know is the depth of heartache behind this beloved story. Munsch, a father who lost two children at birth and, with his wife Ann, never had the family they dreamed of, until they happily adopted three children. He poured his grief into these lines—a lullaby not just for living children, but for the ones who slipped away too soon. It’s a testament to love’s resilience, transforming profound loss into something that heals and holds us all.
On a personal note, I gave my mother and mother-in-law a copy of this book one year for Mother’s Day. (Of course, they looked at me quizzically until I encouraged them to read it aloud. Once done, they both had tears in their eyes, with the knowledge of my intent.)
This book isn’t just a story; it’s a bridge across generations, a reminder that love doesn’t measure in milestones or years but in the quiet, persistent choice to keep showing up. The illustrations, with their soft blues and gentle curves, mirror the ebb and flow of life—joyful in the toddler tantrums, tender in the grown child’s weary return home. Munsch’s other works, like the fierce independence of The Paper Bag Princessor the playful rebellion inMortimer, echo this same spirit: life’s messiness is worth embracing, not escaping. Over 80 million copies sold, translated into more than 20 languages, his stories have sparked imaginations worldwide, proving that even from pain, beauty blooms.
Robert Munsch
Yet, reading about Munsch’s recent openness about his own struggles hit me like a wave. Diagnosed with dementia in 2021, followed by Parkinson’s, the now 80-year-old author shared in a September 14, 2025,New York Timesinterview that he applied for and was approved for Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) shortly after his diagnosis. He worries about becoming a “lump” for his wife to care for, about losing the stories that define him. His daughter Julie clarified soon after, emphasizing he’s “not dying anytime soon” and is doing well for now, but the weight of his choice lingers. I understand that fear intimately. My own mother battled prefrontal dementia, her once-vibrant mind unraveling into frustration and isolation. The woman who raised me with laughter and wisdom became someone we had to guide, her days a fog of forgotten names, unspoken fears, and huge episodes filled with rage. It was heartbreaking, a slow erosion that tested our family’s love to its limits. And in the quiet aftermath, I’ve wrestled with the same shadows: my brother’s suicide amid his chronic illness, my uncle’s, my mother’s years of suicidal ideation, and even my own attempt during a season of unrelenting despair.
These experiences have etched deep lines in my soul, but they’ve also illuminated truths I hold dear. In the pre-existence, as I believe we did before coming to earth, we chose this mortal journey—not to avoid its thorns, but to walk through them. Heavenly Father allows illnesses like dementia, the gnawing ache of Parkinson’s, the invisible grip of depression, not out of cruelty, but as part of a grand design we can’t fully see. Why? To teach us empathy in our weakness,resilience in our frailty, and compassion for others’ unseen battles. Elder M. Russell Ballard, in his compassionate address “Suicide: Some Things We Know, and Some We Do Not,” reminds us of this divine mercy. He speaks of a faithful man, confined by illness, who ended his life in muddled despair—yet emphasizes that God judges not by the act alone, but by the heart’s intent, the mind’s clarity, and life’s full tapestry. “Judgment is the Lord’s,” Ballard teaches, quoting Elder Bruce R. McConkie: those under great stress, mentally clouded or chemically imbalanced, “are no longer accountable for their acts.” The Lord sees our genetic makeup, our emotional storms, the traditions and teachings that shape us. As Alma promises, if our works and desires are good, we will be “restored unto that which is good” (Alma 41:3).
My Mother
Munsch’s life echoes this. From the ashes of losing his babies, he created Love You Forever—a gift that has comforted millions, including me as I navigated my family’s losses. His stories remind us that even when the body fails or the mind fades, the spirit’s legacy endures. Choosing to end life early cuts short that sacred unfolding, robbing us of the growth, the unexpected joys, the quiet revelations that come only through persistence. I’ve felt the temptation to let go, the whisper that escape is easier than endurance. But staying—messy, hard, holy staying—has shown me God’s hand in the details: a sibling’s unexpected hug, a scripture that pierces the dark, a stranger’s kindness that mirrors divine love. As the Prophet Joseph Smith taught, our Heavenly Father judges “according to the deeds done in the body… and His inscrutable designs in relation to the human family” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 218). Suffering doesn’t diminish our worth; it refines it, preparing us for eternal progression “line upon line.”
To anyone reading this in the grip of despair—whether from illness, grief, or the slow creep of forgetfulness—hear this: You are not a burden. You are a beloved child of God, your life a thread in His eternal weave. Your story, like Munsch’s, holds beauty yet untold. Hold on, not out of obligation, but out of the fierce love that says, “I’ll like you for always.” Reach out to those who can help carry the weight. Let their hands, and God’s, remind you that you’re not alone. In the spirit world, as President Joseph F. Smith saw in vision, even those who’ve stumbled can repent, pay the penalty, and receive “a reward according to their works” (D&C 138:58–59). Hope isn’t a fragile wish; it’s a promise.
As I reflect on Munsch’s courage in sharing his story, I pray it sparks not resignation, but resolve—for him, for my family’s memories, for all of us. Let’s choose life, one breath at a time, and keep singing our songs of forever.
If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out—these lifelines are here to help:
• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (US): Call or text 988 (24/7 support).
• Crisis Services Canada: Call 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645 (24/7).
Thinking about the travesties we’ve seen lately, we might have that question on our minds. For that poor young lady whose life was suddenly taken from her, with no one coming to her aid or even comforting her. For our friend Charlie Kirk, who was doing what he loved, sharing his testimony. And yes, for the young men’s family, who was forced to make a choice and turn their son in for the crime. And so many more examples of life’s unfairness. Why didn’t God stop the terrible events? He certainly has the power and ability to stop it.
Facing life’s unfairness requires perspective and faith. Understanding God’s plan helps us see that we are eternal beings on earth to grow and become more like Him. During our time here, we encounter temptation, pain, and suffering. Some of this suffering arises from the choices people make, while other reasons may remain unclear. However, we can trust that these experiences can ultimately lead to growth and good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
We were promised that we’d be free to make our own choices; He would not interfere with our choices. Satan was the one who offered “a guarantee” that we’d all be forced to comply, if he were given the opportunity to rule as God. But that’s not what Heavenly Father wanted for us. He knew that if He were to interfere in any way, we would not learn and grow to be more like Him.
Jesus Christ has triumphed over all through His Atonement and Resurrection. When we encounter unfairness, we can place our faith in Him and His plan, knowing that He will make everything right in the end. The thought that nothing is wasted — every tear is compensated — is very comforting. Through the Holy Ghost, we can find comfort and strength in our challenges.
By choosing faith and enduring, we are promised peace in this life and eternal life in the next (Doctrine and Covenants 59:23).
Ah, the classic question: “What are you doing tonight?” Well, if we’re being honest, my big plans involve… drumroll, please… staring at the ceiling, wrestling with my pillow, and hoping for a solid night’s sleep that doesn’t turn into an accidental hibernation. You see, I’ve been battling a sneaky sleep disorder that’s decided to crash my party lately, especially when stress decides to tag along for the ride.
Just the other day—or should I say, the other two days?—I clocked in a whopping 23 hours of straight sleep. No exaggeration. I didn’t even hit pause for a bathroom break or a quick snack, or more importantly, for my CKD – chronic kidney disease, stage 4 – brought on solely by 2 cases of COVID 19, no sips of water! (Thank goodness, I didn’t take the jab; that would’ve definitely killed me, according to doc. So, I’m lucky that way. I’ve got more time.)
Woke up feeling like I’d time-traveled, disoriented and wondering if the world had kept spinning without me. It’s frustrating as heck, because who has time for that? Life doesn’t come with a snooze button for responsibilities, right? And boy, has stress been fueling this beast. When my mind’s racing with worries, my body just shuts down like an overworked computer, forcing a full system reboot.
Speaking of worries, let’s talk about the good kind—the ones that come wrapped in opportunity but tied up with dollar signs. I’ve been blessed with some fantastic offers to help market my “Misty” book series. We’re talking book clubs eager to feature it, influencers ready to shout it from the rooftops, and marketing pros with killer strategies. It’s all so exciting! I mean, imagining readers diving into Misty’s world, discussing her adventures over coffee… that warms my writerly heart. But here’s the rub: these opportunities aren’t free. And I totally get it—talented people deserve fair pay for their hard work. No one should hustle for nada. The problem? My funds are tighter than a plot twist in a thriller novel. I’ve got a shoestring budget, and every penny counts.
So, which one do I pick for “DiscoveringMisty” series right now? The book club push that could spark word-of-mouth magic? The targeted ads that might land it in front of the perfect audience? Or maybe hold out for something more grassroots? Decisions, decisions—it’s like choosing your favorite flavor at an ice cream shop when you can only afford a single scoop.
And then there’s “George.” Oh, George. Meaning, “George and the Brave Eagle.” This next book in the series is calling my name, begging to be polished and published. Between you and me (and now the internet, I guess), we need to wrap up this series—it’s got so much heart and potential. But what comes after the final chapter? Self-publishing seems like the indie dream, with full creative control and no gatekeepers. Or do I chase traditional routes? I wish I had a crystal ball or a wise oracle to spill the beans. My GoFundMe? It’s sitting there like a patient plant, waiting for rain that hasn’t come yet. Not much momentum, but hey, every journey starts somewhere.
But enough venting—let’s flip this script to the sunny side. Despite the sleep marathons and financial puzzles, I’m genuinely pumped about these doors cracking open. It means people see value in my stories, and that’s fuel for the fire. Tonight? Instead of fretting, I’ll jot down some ideas for “George,” maybe sip some chamomile tea to coax a normal sleep cycle, and remind myself that progress happens one step (or one nap) at a time. Who knows—maybe tomorrow brings a breakthrough, a generous supporter, or that perfect marketing match I can swing on my budget.
If you’re reading this and have tips on affordable book promo magic or self-publishing wins, drop them in the comments! And hey, what are you doing tonight? Let’s turn this into a conversation. Sweet dreams, everyone—or at least, reasonably timed ones. 😊
One habit that’s transformed my daily life is setting aside time each evening to listen to music intentionally. What started as casual background tunes has become a powerful ritual that helps me unwind, lift my mood, and even spark creativity—something I imagine resonates with an author’s focus on finding joy in small moments.
Every night after dinner, I pop on a curated playlist—usually lo-fi, jazz, or soft indie tracks—and let myself sink into the music for 15–20 minutes. It’s like a mental reset button. This habit has made me calmer, more focused, and even more inspired for tasks like writing or brainstorming. It’s amazing how a few songs can shift my entire day’s energy.
To make it stick, I paired it with my evening wind-down routine. I dim the lights, grab a cozy spot, and avoid distractions like my phone (except for the music app!). At first, I struggled to prioritize this time, so I set a recurring calendar reminder labeled “Music Moment” for the first few weeks. I also tracked my mood in a small notebook afterward, which showed me how much happier and grounded I felt, cementing the habit.
This simple practice has become my daily dose of peace, proving that small rituals can have a big impact.
What’s a habit you’ve built that’s changed your life? Share below—I’d love to know!
You must be logged in to post a comment.