Blog
Fifteen years of writing updates, behind-the-scenes, and whatever else is on my mind.
2025
December 2024 included a trip to South Carolina, a Christmas at home, and more. And here's what I'm up to in January!
It's 2025! And it's time to set some goals for the year... This year I'm setting goals to become an AI-Assisted One-Woman Studio. Super fun! What are your goals for 2025?
2024
What happened in 2024? Plenty of traveling, the growth of my business, and more... Here are the results of my yearly goals!
My targeting system identifies thirty-seven crooked wreaths, twelve sagging light strands, and one star that’s listing to port atop the town hall Christmas tree.
The puddle by the loading dock shows me eating cereal tomorrow morning. Boring.
The stars are going out like candles at closing time, one by one, leaving holes in the constellations I’ve known since childhood.
The first snow always comes on a Sunday. Frank says it’s a coincidence, but I know better.
“Hydroponic Bay 4, final inventory,” I say into my tablet, trying to keep my voice professional.
The thing is mostly teeth and decay, half-swallowed by vines.
The ducks are swimming in perfect hexagons tonight, which is never a good sign.
November 2024 included a trip to Las Vegas and lots of other things. Now, I'm setting goals for December!
Images that just didn't make the cut in November 2024.
The castle maintenance budget is a joke. Literally.
The barista’s thoughts are fuchsia today, all spiky and caffeinated. They stab into my temples like tiny disco lights.
“Jules! You need to see this!” Marcus’s voice echoes through the limestone passage, bouncing off walls that haven’t heard human sounds in… well, maybe ever.
The thing about being a guardian of imaginary friends is that you have to be very patient. And sturdy.
The ice cap calves another segment into the copper-colored sea, and I log it in my report.
“As you can see,” I say, sliding the photos across my desk, “it’s a lovely three-bedroom Colonial with original hardwood floors and a recently updated kitchen.”
The dust rises with each step, dancing in the weak sunlight that filters through broken windows.
The walkway stretches out before me like an endless diving board into the sunset.