Jessica Goodwin's Blog

My kid is four and a half now. Every day, I marvel at something he says or does. He makes me laugh and roll my eyes. Sometimes the stuff that comes out of his mouth is so smart… and sometimes it’s smart-alecky. He makes up his own stories and songs. He tells jokes. And the questions. So many questions.

Once upon a time, we were worried that he had a speech delay. He didn’t really start talking until after he turned two. It was one of those things where the pediatrician told us we probably had nothing to worry about, that boys tended to talk later and he’d probably catch up eventually. We took him to a speech pathologist who kind of said the same thing; she felt like he was really smart and just wasn’t motivated to talk because he had parents that tended to do a lot of talking for him, but that eventually he would start. I don’t know if the pediatrician was right – that he just outgrew the speech thing, or if it was the speech pathologist’s help, but once he finally did start talking, there was no stopping him.

It’s hard to believe we were ever worried about that. His preschool teachers told us that he needs to work on raising his hand and not yelling out, and that he always has something to say. They also said he is friendly and kind and always tries to include everyone. He loves numbers and shapes and drawing and writing and science. He loves anything having to do with outer space and astronauts. He can follow all the instructions to build stuff out of LEGO all by himself. He is starting to read. He has a stellar memory. He can hear a song and start humming and singing along within a verse or two. If there was a preschool version of “Name that Tune,” he would kick ass. He loves going places and is a good traveler. He’s always been a pretty good eater. His favorite food is currently steak, medium. Or shrimp. He is getting the hang of soccer and is definitely a water baby – loves his swimming lessons and will sit in the bath until the water turns cold.

Spending the past four and a half years at home with him has been amazing. I’m so lucky that I was able to do that. I’ve gotten to watch him go from this teeny-tiny helpless little baby to a big kid who can now pick out his clothes and dress himself. He can make himself a peanut butter sandwich or microwave a soft pretzel.

Four and a half years have gone by in a blink.

When he was still just a baby, only a few months old, we would get up in the morning and I’d nurse or, later, he’d have his first bottle. Since I wasn’t (still ain’t!) a morning person, I’d feed him in bed and then he’d fall asleep on the bed next to me while I watched a couple hours of the Today show or dozed off myself. Later on, I would lie on the couch with him and hold him for his mid-day nap. It wasn’t that he was clingy or that he wasn’t a good sleeper. I just loved being able to snuggle with him while I watched TV or read stuff on my phone. I didn’t need to put him in the bassinet or the crib because I had nothing else going on. I didn’t have anything else to do but love on my baby.

But then I wanted to start writing again and I realized the only way I was going to get any work done was if I forced myself to put him down for that nap. He slept just fine and I sat in front of the computer and was actually able to write for a couple hours every day.  I guess I felt kind of guilty about it, even though he didn’t know any different. It was harder on me because I felt like I was giving something up by going off and doing something for myself.

But it worked out okay. I was actually able to get things done. I had a few pieces published here and there. I was surprised when I applied for a writing job and actually got it. I decided not to go back to work teaching to see if I could actually make the writing thing work.

And so far, I have. I’ve written hundreds of posts. I’ve written three more novels. I decided to go back to school and have written dozens of short stories and essays. All because I finally decided to do something for myself.

The first time we dropped him off at his play school when he was about sixteen months old, I was nervous at the thought of him being without me for three whole hours. And again, it was harder on me than it was on him. But then, as we’d watch him toddle into the building without looking back, I realized that he would be just fine, and I would, too.

While it was initially hard for me to accept, I like to think that when I learned to take my time back, I turned around and poured my good feelings about it into the kid. He went to play school that first year one day a week and the transition went smoothly. He definitely didn’t like to see the other kids crying and clinging to their mommies, but always reacted with a kind of “What’s the matter with you?” look on his face, like the other kids should have known it was really no big deal.

The following year, it was two days a week, and his confidence (and mine) had grown by leaps. I could leave him at the door, kiss him goodbye, and that was it, with no tears shed from either of us. One mom stopped me on my way back to the car and asked me how I did it, just say goodbye and walk away, and didn’t he ever get upset when I left? I told her no, he was always fine, because I’d learned not to make a big deal out of the goodbye, but to make a bigger deal out of being there to pick him up.

When he started preschool at age three, he seemed disappointed that we showed up to meet-the-teacher-day and hung around with him, even though it was just meant for the kids to find their classrooms and see where they’d be spending all their time. Again, from day one, we were able to leave him at the door, and then I could go claim three hours’ of kid-free time to get stuff done.

He goes five days a week now, and I think I have pretty much mastered the art of multitasking and cramming as much as possible into those three hours every day. On top of all that, we are blessed with a kid who still sort of naps, who, even if he doesn’t sleep, will happily hang out in his room for an hour and a half or so after lunch, playing with stuffed animals or “reading” books in bed, which gives me even more time to finish up whatever I started earlier in the day.

It’s gotten so easy, and it works for us, and we’re both happy with the situation. He loves school, I love getting stuff done. He likes to sing at the top of his lungs in his room for an hour, I like to sit at the desk in the office one floor below him and laugh because I can hear him over whatever music I’m listening to while I’m writing. And then, when nap time is over, I get to go in his room and give him a great big hug and we have the rest of the afternoon to watch cartoons, have parades all over the house, and roll out shapes in Play-Doh.

But that’s all going to change soon, because next year is kindergarten, and even though that’s still nearly a year away, it’s already hitting me hard. Because we’re going to have to do the whole thing all over again. I’m going to have to let go a little bit more. I’m going to have to watch him get on the school bus all by himself, which he is already super excited to do. He’ll be fine with leaving me for the whole day, because he’ll have a big giant world of new things to see and learn and do and will be so busy he won’t have time to miss me.

Which just means I will need to fill my free time with more things for myself. I’ll be finishing up my thesis. I’ll be looking for work. I’ll be writing. And the whole time, I’ll be wondering where the past few years have gone.

It’s that time of year… I have been thinking a lot lately about how grateful I am for my life and the way things are. I think about it a lot, not just in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, but I thought maybe I’d try to put my thoughts into words.

I am beyond thankful for my friends and family. My circle is definitely smaller and some of my friends are far-flung, but my people, the ones I know I can count on, are the best. The friends who know they can text me at six a.m. and get a response. The friends who I can talk to every single day about nothing at all. The friends I can vent to. The friends I can be real with. There’s definitely not as many as there used to be, but I’ve learned that I would much rather have a few good, close friends than a bunch of superficial, surface-only friendships. Some friends have fallen by the wayside. We’ve lost touch. Things aren’t the same, and that’s fine. People change and people grow apart. It happens. It’s funny who is left. Not who I would have thought. Some of the friends that I thought would always be there have faded into the past. But the friends who’ve stuck around? I don’t know what I’d do without them.

My little family is amazing. My two boys are everything. I am so lucky to have an amazing husband who supports me in everything I do. He lets me sleep in, he makes me coffee in the morning, he listens to me ramble and puts up with my snoring. He pushes me to be a better person and always has confidence in me, even when I don’t. Especially when I don’t. Our little guy is growing up to be kind, smart, funny, and independent. It’s a wonderful feeling to know that he’s on the right track. We must be doing something right.

I’m thankful for words, whether I’m reading them or writing them. The past few years have been so full of words. I have done so much reading and writing for school and feel like I have become a much better writer because of it. I’m thankful for the feedback people have given me. I’m thankful for the professors who have pushed me. I have always enjoyed writing but lately I feel like it’s all I have been doing, bouncing from one project to another and I absolutely love it. Three manuscripts, a serial novella, a TV pilot, a hundred or so articles or blog posts, a bunch of short stories. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but as long as I’m writing, I know I will be happy.

I’m thankful for my health. I know there are some things I can do to take better care of myself and I’m trying. I try to get my steps in every day. I’m trying to drink more water. I’m trying to work out, even if LEKFit kicks my ass. The doctor says I need to lose a little bit of weight (I mean, don’t they kind of always tell you that?) but other than that, I’m ok. Blood pressure is good, cholesterol is low, everything is normal, and for that I am so glad. Now I just need to make sure everything stays that way for as long as possible!

This one might sound crazy, but I’m thankful for being tired. When I first moved here seven years ago, we joked that every year, something big always happened, and that eventually, someday, things would calm down. I moved and got a new job in 2012. In 2013 we got engaged and got married. I got pregnant and we bought our house in 2014. In 2015, our son was born and I quit teaching. In 2016, we lost our house and everything we owned. In 2017, we both went back to school and returned to our house. In 2018, the kid started preschool. In 2019, I spent a week on campus and began work on my thesis. Things still haven’t calmed down yet, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The other night while I was trying to fall asleep, I was trying to remember the difference between right-brained and left-brained thinkers and I started wondering which one I was. I was leaning towards whichever one means you’re more creative and imaginative, but started to think that I have my organized, orderly qualities, too.

Then I started thinking about writing.

Whenever I’m working on a project, I tend to lie in bed at night, thinking about the characters, turning scenes over in my mind, plotting out what I’m going to write next. I like to think I’m write-brained.

The problem is, that night, I had just finished up my Channillo series, so lying in bed at night, I don’t have that story line to think about anymore. Which is why I end up wondering about random stuff like whether I’m right or left brained.

Right-brained thinkers tend to be visual, imaginative, and artistic while left-brained thinkers tend to be analytical and organized. I just spent ten minutes taking an online quiz to determine whether or not I was right-brained or left-brained.

The results to my quiz placed me right in the middle, saying that the parts of my brain have found harmony with each other. Then I did another one, with different questions. That one said I was more right-brained. I did a third one and according to those questions, I’m left-brained.

So, whatever. I’m sticking with my original theory that I’m write-brained.

Those first few nights after finishing a project are always so strange. I get so used to trying to plan things out in my head, envisioning my characters and hearing their words, that when they’re no longer rattling around in there, I don’t know what else to do.

So it’s not long before I start thinking of what to write next. The second version of my sixth manuscript has been done for a while now, and God only knows why I’m thinking of rewriting it. I’m sure it won’t be long before I start thinking about those characters again. I’ll be starting my thesis soon, a collection of twelve short stories, and you better believe the thoughts are swirling there, too.

My biggest problem is going to be trying to focus on one thing at a time. I’ve been working on that manuscript forever, so I’d really like to whip it into shape. I’ve been dying to really get cracking on my thesis and have been taking notes all over the place. I thought of a story idea I’d like to pitch to a few online outlets. And I had so much fun with my Channillo series that I’m wondering if I should do another one. What is wrong with me???

I’m write-brained. That’s what’s wrong with me.

I turned 40 last month and really thought I’d have something to say about it here on the blog, but… I don’t. I’m not big into celebrating my birthday. I’m definitely not bothered by aging. I’m just not one of those people who needs a big fuss. I don’t need a surprise party or a birthday week or a birthday month. And I mean that. There are some people who say things like that, but secretly wish that there was more of a to-do made in their honor. That’s not me. I don’t like being the center of attention. Plus, since having the kid, I’d rather make a big deal out of his big days – birthdays, holidays, milestones.

I’m not saying that hitting 40 isn’t special. I just didn’t need to go crazy to celebrate it. I think I’ve been acknowledging it and celebrating it a little bit here and there all throughout the past year. I’m not the same person I was when I turned 39. I’m certainly not the same person I was when I turned 20 or 30. (Thank goodness for that!) [image error]

My husband and I celebrated with a nice dinner at a new restaurant and drinks at a few other places afterwards. My in-laws were here and babysat. The following weekend, my parents came to watch the kid so that we could go out to dinner again, this time with friends of ours, to celebrate his birthday/my birthday. We had dinner at another new restaurant and then did this crazy escape room/adventure game. It was a lot of fun, and it was a great way to spend the evening with friends. I have one more birthday celebration that I need to get on the calendar, with a friend who also has a September birthday, but we’re so low-key about our birthdays we always end up celebrating in April for some reason. It just takes us that long to finally get our shit together and make a date. And that’s fine by me. That’s how we’ve done it the past couple years. It’s become a thing now.

While I could probably write a much longer post about the things I want to work on or improve now that I’m 40… I want to get in better shape and get stronger, I need to eat better (see last post about cookies), I don’t know what to do about these wrinkles, I have no idea what I’m going to do when I am done with school this time next year…

40-year-old me is going to focus on the positive:

I have an amazing husband and kid. I’m proud of our family. My group of friends might be smaller now, but they are awesome. I might not be in the best shape of my life, but I’m trying. I might not have a plan for the future, but  I’m confident that things will work out the way they’re meant to. And I might have some wrinkles, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about ’em, so… oh well!

I turned 40 last month and really thought I’d have something to say about it here on the blog, but… I don’t. I’m not big into celebrating my birthday. I’m definitely not bothered by aging. I’m just not one of those people who needs a big fuss. I don’t need a surprise party or a birthday week or a birthday month. And I mean that. There are some people who say things like that, but secretly wish that there was more of a to-do made in their honor. That’s not me. I don’t like being the center of attention. Plus, since having the kid, I’d rather make a big deal out of his big days – birthdays, holidays, milestones.

I’m not saying that hitting 40 isn’t special. I just didn’t need to go crazy to celebrate it. I think I’ve been acknowledging it and celebrating it a little bit here and there all throughout the past year. I’m not the same person I was when I turned 39. I’m certainly not the same person I was when I turned 20 or 30. (Thank goodness for that!) [image error]

My husband and I celebrated with a nice dinner at a new restaurant and drinks at a few other places afterwards. My in-laws were here and babysat. The following weekend, my parents came to watch the kid so that we could go out to dinner again, this time with friends of ours, to celebrate his birthday/my birthday. We had dinner at another new restaurant and then did this crazy escape room/adventure game. It was a lot of fun, and it was a great way to spend the evening with friends. I have one more birthday celebration that I need to get on the calendar, with a friend who also has a September birthday, but we’re so low-key about our birthdays we always end up celebrating in April for some reason. It just takes us that long to finally get our shit together and make a date. And that’s fine by me. That’s how we’ve done it the past couple years. It’s become a thing now.

While I could probably write a much longer post about the things I want to work on or improve now that I’m 40… I want to get in better shape and get stronger, I need to eat better (see last post about cookies), I don’t know what to do about these wrinkles, I have no idea what I’m going to do when I am done with school this time next year…

40-year-old me is going to focus on the positive:

I have an amazing husband and kid. I’m proud of our family. My group of friends might be smaller now, but they are awesome. I might not be in the best shape of my life, but I’m trying. I might not have a plan for the future, but  I’m confident that things will work out the way they’re meant to. And I might have some wrinkles, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about ’em, so… oh well!

Years and years and years ago, I used to bake a lot around the holidays. I would bake batches of cookies and then bring them to work or give them to friends. Sometimes I’d take them to my parents’ house for Christmas, but my mom always makes cookies, too, so we’d end up with a ton. I made this pumpkin roll – the kind that you slather with cream cheese frosting, roll up, and slice so that you have perfect little orange and white spirals – that my friends adored, but that I never liked. I just made it for them.

I had no idea that Tommy was also probably doing the same thing a thousand miles away. I think maybe it started as a thing with him and his ex-wife, but it ended up being a project that he took on with such gusto, it made my baking endeavors pale in comparison. When we were dating long-distance, he mailed me a box of  cookies, neatly separated in cupcake liners. Then he bought a fortune cookie maker and mailed me those, too.

When we moved in together, I got to witness the cookie making firsthand. I sat out baking because there was no way I could keep up. Plus, our townhouse had a tiny little kitchen. But still, he made dozens of batches of cookies for people, freezing them as he went. He bought storage containers and filled them up for his coworkers and colleagues. He mailed cookies to friends overseas. His cookies were a thing. He arranged a gigantic cookie platter for me to take to work for our staff holiday party. People thought I was dating a baker.

When we got married, we didn’t have a wedding cake… we baked cookies. (By that, I mean, he baked most of the cookies, and I helped.) We decorated a table with jars and jars of homemade cookies and got cardboard containers so guests could fill them with whatever treats they wanted and take them home.

Since moving into our house (with two ovens in the kitchen!) and having a kid a few years ago, we have a different cookie approach. We still make dozens of cookies, usually between 20-30 different kinds each year. We still make some of the ones we know everybody loves. We now try to make cookies or desserts from every country that we’ve visited together. I help out way more than I used to.

But we’ve both changed jobs and don’t see old coworkers and friends as much we used to, so we have a cookie party every year. We call it “Cookies and Cocktails.”

Newcomers to this annual get-together sometimes make the mistake of bringing US cookies.

No, the whole reason we have this party is because once we’re all done baking them, we want to get rid of them. We love making them. We eat our fair share. But come cookie party time, we’re kinda sick of them.

We bake for months. We fill the freezer. We taste test as we go. I think half the time I like the cookie dough more than the actual cookies themselves. (Yep, I’m a beater-licker and I haven’t died of salmonella yet.) And of course, if it’s a cookie I haven’t made before, then I have to try one. Or if it’s a cookie that Tommy made, because don’t things always taste better when you’re not the one making them? Or if a cookie breaks, because we’re not giving anybody a broken cookie, but we wouldn’t want that cookie to go to waste, now, would we?

Yes, hot girl summer is over and baked-goods bod winter is fast approaching.

[image error]

I will probably need to do a cookie detox soon. But it’s only October and I still have a list of like, a dozen more cookies that I want to bake. Maybe we can get to 40 kinds this year.

And I haven’t even figured out what cocktails we’ll be making. What wine pairs best with chocolate chip cookies?

Click here for the cookies! The cocktails!

You can also catch the cookie highlights on Instagram!

(Side note: If you’re wondering about freezing cookies, honestly, we’ve never had an issue. We usually start baking in September or October and freeze the cookies until our party sometime in December. We have never had a problem with flavor or freezer burn or anything like that.)

This semester, I am taking a required, self-paced course that guides students through the steps of writing a thesis proposal. Although school has only been in session for about a month, I’m already about halfway through the exercises and will soon be starting the proposal itself. I couldn’t be more excited.

I have been waking up (early-ish) every day and doing a little bit of writing before the kid gets up. I feel like I have done so much research and put so much work in over the past few weeks, and I am brimming with enthusiasm for my project. I’m excited to write the proposal because it will really help me state my intentions for my project.

So what is my project?

Well, for starters, it’s not going to be like anything else I’ve ever written before. It’s not romance. It’s not even fiction. I’m writing a memoir – a collection of short stories – about all the different places I’ve lived. I’m going to take a look at each house or neighborhood, what kind of person I was while I lived there, and what kind of person I eventually turned into. And maybe a little bit about where I’d like to go next and the person I’m still working on becoming.

I have worked on a few stories already, and have most of the rest mapped out. I’ve written a ton of notes. I have all kinds of ideas. I’m just really looking forward to getting started. But, first thing’s first. The proposal!

For my proposal, I’m rereading and analyzing three memoirs from writers that I admire.

Rise by Cara Brookins

Searching for Mercy Street by Linda Gray Sexton

The Best of Us by Joyce Maynard

What is most inspiring about these authors is their ability to speak so unflinchingly about some of the most difficult experiences in their lives. In addition, I plan on talking about the structure of Brookins’ novel, Gray Sexton’s use of memory, dialogue, and detail, and how Maynard manages to maintain an authentic voice.

Once my proposal is submitted and approved, my research advisor and the university powers that be will match me up with someone who will be my thesis director. When I’m assigned a thesis director, I will have nine months to complete my project. I’m guesstimating that I will end up finishing my project in the fall of 2020, which means I will be graduating in 2021.

I’m looking at that stretch of time on the calendar and can’t help thinking that nine months doesn’t seem like very long. A lot is going to happen in those nine months and the months after. Next fall, when I finish my thesis, my son will have turned five and will be starting kindergarten. In 2021, when I graduate from Harvard, he’ll be graduating from kindergarten. Two big, new beginnings. Only a year away.

To big, new beginnings!

The Harvard Creative Writing Residency has been in the books for over a month now but I think I’m still processing it!

Earlier this summer, I spent a week in Cambridge surrounded by some amazing writers and friends who quickly came to feel like family! The residency is a requirement of my ALM in Creative Writing and Literature at Harvard Extension.

I was most excited to finally meet three classmates that I have “known” for several semesters – Lindsey, John, and Nicolas. Although this was our first in-person meeting, we were all in agreement that hanging out together was like spending time with old friends. I spotted Lindsey in the airport from the top of an escalator and we just started talking like two friends who picked up where they left off in whatever crazy conversation they were in the middle of the last time they saw each other. Someone in class asked me how we all knew each other, if we lived in different states and countries. We’d only ever had class together and chatted online,  but that didn’t stop us from becoming fast friends. Kindred spirits. Framily. They are my people and I love ’em.

[image error]

In the mornings, Lindsey, our friend Danielle, and I walked from our AirBnB down to campus. Every morning we ended up somewhere different for coffee and breakfast. A few mornings, we ducked into the library to finish our readings and print out copies of our work. We spent our weekdays in class with Rachel Kadish, an author and professor from nearby Lesley University. Ours days were full of writing exercises, workshops, and creative activities. Every day, we headed out somewhere in a group for lunch before returning to the classroom for our afternoon session. Over the weekend, we attended editing workshops with Christina Thompson, editor of the Harvard Review. I wish I had taken a class with her, because her workshops were phenomenal! In addition to her sessions, we sat in on several author, editor, and agent Q&A panels. We got to have our work briefly reviewed by literary magazine editors and got to mix and mingle with a few local literary agents.

Having your work critiqued in an online class is one thing, but having it done right in front of you is another. It seemed like it went really well, though, and I appreciated the feedback that I received from my classmates and my professors. If I learned anything from this experience, it is to trust your writing. A lot of the comments I got from my classmates were things that I had worried about when turning in my draft; they were also things that I had already planned to rewrite or add back in – I’d had to trim the story way, way down to meet the word count for the first draft, and had ended up cutting parts out of the story that people wanted to know more about. An easy and fun fix!

The culminating event of our residency was a public reading of our work. I used to be an elementary teacher and spent all day talking in front of my students. I never had any problem standing in front of the kids, but would always get tongue-tied if I had to speak up at a faculty meeting or talk to parents during conferences. Even in my online classes through the Extension, I would find myself hesitant to speak up. Then, naturally, someone else would say what I was thinking, and would likely say it more articulately than I would have been able to. While on campus, I found myself still being a little quiet, afraid to speak out or throw my two cents in. I think a big part of that was just taking it all in, and being there in the room with so many talented people.

As our time in class wound down and we prepared for our reading, I realized I was running out of time to get to speak up. The week was almost over and this was going to be one my last chance to show what I could do. I think that’s why I went into the reading feeling much more confident than I normally would have been. I tried to look at it as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to read my work in front of a room full of people. I think it went really well. See below!

(The snippet that I read was part of a longer story that I have worked on in a few different classes. It will also be part of my thesis project. More on that later!)

Being on campus was such an amazing experience. I loved learning my way around campus and walking all over Cambridge. I loved trying different coffee spots every day. I loved sitting in the library and wandering the stacks. I loved making multiple trips to the Coop to buy even more school merch. [image error]My entire closet might as well be Harvard crimson at this point.

One of the highlights of my trip was getting to spend some time with my first professor at Extension, Dr. Elisabeth McKetta. She was also one of my last, as she was my independent study director in the spring semester. Our first night in Cambridge, she hosted a happy hour get together for everyone in the residency, so that we could all get acquainted. We met for lunch and ice cream in the middle of the week, and it was just a pleasure to walk through the Yard and bump into her and her kids, zipping along the sidewalks on their scooters. Dr. McKetta and I have spent a lot of time talking about my thesis project and I am so grateful for all of the advice and feedback she has given me.

In the evenings, my friends and I hung out, going to different restaurants for dinner. Sometimes it was just our core group, other times we mixed and matched with other groups. We made it to a Red Sox game, Lindsey and Nick’s first ball games, ever! My favorite night, though, was our first night together. John and I headed to the grocery store, loaded up on wine and snacks, and then five of us sat down in backyard of our AirBnB to eat, drink, and play Cards Against Humanity. We laughed and laughed.

That night, Lindsey, Danielle, and I picked up takeout and sat around on Lindsey’s bed, watching TV and talking. It was a quiet night. We were all just beat and it felt strange knowing that we were about to once again be scattered all over the place, after spending so much time together.

Saying goodbye was hard. Way harder than I expected. A bunch of people got together for drinks at Russell House after our last event. A few people, John and Nick included, [image error]had to leave shortly afterwards. We crowded around a long table with our backpacks and suitcases all around our feet. When John’s car came, Lindsey and I walked him out to say goodbye. I managed to hold it together. A little while later, we said goodbye to Nick. I managed to hold it together.

The following morning, both Lindsey and I agreed that we were exhausted and done and just ready to go home and hug our husbands and our babies. We got to the airport early and grabbed breakfast. We ran into another classmate who was also flying home. We sat around and chatted, and then it was time for Lindsey to head to her gate. I stood waiting with her for a couple minutes and finally she said, “You don’t have to wait here with me. Go get to your gate!” We both got all teary and hugged goodbye.

To pass the time until my flight started boarding, I called my mom. I was able to choke out that I’d just said goodbye to Lindsey and that I was really sad. Actually, I was feeling all of the emotions. I was exhausted. It had been a long, busy week with lots of walking and not a lot of sleep. I was proud and excited and happy to have been a part of it all. I was excited to think about what my classmates might end up doing in the future. I was sad that it was my last class before starting my thesis project. I missed my boys like crazy and couldn’t wait to get home. And another thought hung over my head… one that is awesome, exciting, and kind of a little scary all at once…

The next time I head back to Cambridge, it will be for my graduation in 2021!

…and the livin’s easy!

I mean, it’s actually pretty busy. I didn’t think the crazy mom calendar would start so soon – the kid is only four – but man, between vacation, summer camp, my upcoming school trip, my husband’s upcoming work trip, and swim lessons… This summer is flying by pretty fast!

We spent just over a week in Barcelona last month. A week was definitely not enough time, but we had a lot of fun exploring as much of the city as we could! You can read more on Go With The Goodwins.

I have the summer off this year, except for a three-week workshop coming up. It includes a week-long writer’s residency on campus. I’m kind of nervous (it’s the longest I’ve ever been away from the kiddo!) but I’m also really excited about this trip!

Since I don’t have any school work due at the moment, I’m currently sifting through the mess that I made of book number 6. I wrote it last year. (A year ago?! Already???) I used it as the premise for the TV script I wrote for school last semester. Then I dismantled it so that I could rewrite it. I’m in the middle of doing that now, and whew… I’ve never torn a book apart like I have this one. Once I cut out the now-irrelevant chunks, rearranged pages, and took all my notes, I stepped away for a while because I wasn’t sure where to start. The ideas are all in my head, but trying to get them on paper was daunting. And it’s summer. And I have been totally lacking in motivation.

Until I looked at the calendar one day, and realized that, hello, it’s almost JULY. An entire month, poof! Gone.

So I sat down in the living room, spread my chapters out all over the floor, took more notes, rearranged some more, organized my thoughts, and created my plan of attack. I’m about 30,000 words in so far and feeling good. Still have about 18 chapters to get through, some of which I will be rewriting from ground zero. But that’s okay… I’m enjoying it. I’m busy all day. I’m sleeping great at night. (Hasn’t happened in ages.) That’s what writing does. It makes me so happy, but it wears me out!