Writing

Ten Years of Stories: An Anniversary Series

/ Katie / 6 Comments

I’ve been following Annie over at Tales of a Family for a long time. And this year marks ten years of blogging for both of us. So to celebrate, we decided to collaborate and work on a series together. It’s been fun, and will continue to be fun as we explore our milestones and get to know our journeys a little better together. She’s posted this Part One over on her blog, and I’m sharing it, as well! They’ll be a little different from each other, because we’re different people, but we both share a love of stories, family, home, and history. Please give her a follow, and enjoy this series as we post every other Saturday!

MEET THE WRITERS

Annie, Tales of a Family

The Milestone

Ten years ago, I stared at a blank page with a heart full of stories, not knowing where this journey might take me. For as long as I can remember, I have always loved the quiet magic of writing, the way it guides me to gather up the pieces of family tales and history and create family stories. Tales of a Family: Finding My Home became more than a collection of memories; it became a place where my own voice settled in alongside the voices of the women who came before me. 

Their love and encouragement influenced me and touched my life in more ways than I could have ever imagined, and I think of them often, especially when I write. They gently reminded me of the value of our history, the comfort of belonging, and the importance of sharing. 

And over time, as my blog grew, I am grateful to my readers, family, and friends who quietly walked beside me on this journey. Your loving encouragement has carried me through this adventure, page by page. This ten-year milestone isn’t just a number. It feels like coming home again and again, to a life shaped by stories, laughter, and the unexpected beauty found in everyday moments, the beginning of a new journey I never saw coming.

Annie’s Part One: Why We Started 

From a young age, I have always loved to write. I kept journals, wrote poetry, scribbled a few short stories, and even tried my hand at music. Words have always been a part of me, but I never really truly settled into writing until I went to college. 

While working on my English major, I began to find my voice and a real outlet for my writing. I had poetry published in college magazines and chapbooks, articles published in the college newspaper, and an article published in a collegiate book after attending a college conference that included professors from Ivy League schools. During my senior year, I was one of only seven students invited to share my poetry with faculty and students, and I was the only student not currently pursuing a master’s degree. 

That experience should have given me the courage to keep going, and for a while I dreamed of doing just that. But as the years passed, everyday responsibilities slowly moved to the front of my life, while my writing quietly slipped into the background.

After graduation, I worked for five years in the prison system, teaching mainly General Education and Adult Basic Education courses. Later, I found a teaching job at a middle school in a semi-rural community in Colorado. For the past 22 years, I have taught language arts, transitional reading, creative writing, and humanities. I love my job, and I have spent much of my life helping my students find their own voices as they create and write.

During my transition, somewhere deep inside, my own stories kept waiting.

One summer ten years ago, an old back injury put me on bed rest. Suddenly, I had time, more than I wanted, to be honest. But in that stillness, I began writing again. And it felt like an old friend had returned.

And yes, I can type while lying flat on my back! I’m talented that way.

As I rested and recovered, family stories started tugging at me. I thought about the memories passed down through the women in my family, the old tales, the bits of history, the funny moments, the heartbreaks, and the everyday pieces of life that might disappear if no one wrote them down. And I knew I needed to save them.

That is how my blog, Tales of a Family: Finding My Way Home, began.

At first, those stories were simple, heartfelt, and rooted in memory. Some came from family history, some from genealogy research, and others from the voices of loved ones who shaped my life. I wanted to preserve those stories, not only for myself but also for my daughter, my grandchildren, my family, and anyone else who understood the deep pull of family, memory, and belonging.

What I did not understand then that starting a blog would become more than a way to save family history. It would become a doorway back to myself. Page after page, story after story, I began to remember who I was as a writer. And in many ways, that unexpected journey began with one long summer, one old injury, and one blank page waiting for me to begin once again.

Katie, A Virginia Writer’s Diary

That’s me, and you’re here!

The Milestone

Blogging can be a lonely pastime. Or, it can connect you with other creators who inspire you, support you, and encourage you. You’ll read their stuff, comment, get to know them and root for them. And you’ll wonder sometimes, is anyone out there reading my stuff? Should I keep writing and posting? And even though you feel uncertain, you will, because it means something to you, and because you love it. You’ll keep putting your stories out there, sharing your world, and one day you’ll look up and realize it’s been ten years.

Ten years of blogging, and of building your community of writers and readers.

They say tin for ten years, in marriage. But as far as we know, there is no standard gift for ten years of blogging. So, we made one.

When we realized we’d both been at this for a decade, we decided to collaborate and write a series. Over the next several weeks, we’ll be looking back together on our ten years – why we started, what we’ve learned, our best posts and memories. It’s going to be fun, and we’ll learn a lot and hopefully inspire some of our other creator friends and colleagues to reflect on their own journeys.

So enjoy this introduction, and get to know us, Annie and Katie, two writers who value family, home, history, and stories, and who can’t wait to share that love with you.  

Katie’s Part One: Why We Started

I started A Virginia Writer’s Diary back in 2016 when I was in a major transition.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I got a degree in literature and started my working life as a children’s librarian. But we don’t always end up where we expect, and through a series of unexpected moves and turns and decisions of various hiring managers, I found myself instead working in corporate Human Resources. I stayed in that field for almost a decade, and it was killing me. Truly, it was not where I was meant to be, and I think my soul was rebelling.

So I quit. Looking back, it’s the second-best decision I’ve ever made. (Having Lucy, my smart and brave and spunky and mischievous toddler is the best. Marrying Graham, who has supported me every day of our seventeen years together, also ranks pretty high. But I digress.)

I decided to try my hand at writing a novel for a year. I started my blog as a way to just write something, to practice and to keep at it and to hold myself accountable. I wanted to feel connected to myself and my work. And then I took a break for a while. Something just wasn’t working, writing-wise, and Graham and I used that time to find and purchase a 200-year-old home and start building a life out in the countryside. I came back to WordPress in 2020. That’s when I started with short stories and the poems, and I feel like that’s when I really came alive as a writer.

Graham and I have since sold that house, and now my family lives in coastal Virginia and I’m learning to be a beach person. We’ll see how A Virginia Writer’s Diary evolves in this new place, but I know that no matter what, and despite the busy-ness of mom life, I will always keep writing.

Join us in two weeks to read more!

And thank you for reading!

A Very Fun Interview (And You Should, Too!)

/ Katie / 7 Comments

Blogging can be a lonely pastime, or it can connect you with some of the most interesting people you’ve ever encountered. I’ve said before just how much I value the community here on WordPress. We inspire each other, support each other, and encourage each other, and it’s just wonderful. You get the most out of blogging, truly, when you find your people.

I’ve been following Poorwa for many years now. So, when I saw that she was working on a series of interviews with other bloggers reflecting on blogging during and after the pandemic, I knew I wanted to participate. I think it’s such a good idea, and all of the interviews so far have been interesting and thoughtful, and so fun to read. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to be part of it, and Poorwa’s questions were so good.

You can read my interview here: Interview with Katie | At least, we did SOMETHING during lockdown – EP 5

And please check out her blog, and if you’re so inclined, reach out to her to be interviewed for this series, as well. I learn so much from all of you, and I love reading your answers about creating, blogging, and just living every day.

And it’s worth mentioning, I’m super excited to possibly collaborate with Poorwa again in the future. 😊 What do you think we should do?

Thank You for Ten Years!

/ Katie / 32 Comments

I haven’t had any time this week to write. Or read. Or do much of anything else, really. Lucy’s been keeping us fantastically, beautifully busy.

I love it. Though I do wish I had just a little more time. Or hands. Or both.

Anyway.

I think maybe my busy-ness was kismet, because I got a notification from WordPress today that I’ve been blogging now for ten years.

TEN. YEARS.

When I look back at where I started and where I am now, in blogging and writing and life, I feel so much gratitude. I’ve made wonderful friends here, and they inspire me every day to keep creating. I’ve grown and changed in ways I never could have imagined. I’ve got Lucy, and I live at the beach, and I write poetry. I never thought I could actually write poetry. I feel more brave, more open, and more ready. And I also know that I still have so much more to learn.

If you’re reading this today (or tomorrow or whenever), thank you! Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading and for being here. If you’ve been reading for a while, thank you extra, because you’ve kept me going through many a hard day. Knowing you’re out there keeps me motivated, and makes me want to a better writer and creator and human.

It’s quite a journey we’ve been on together. I can’t wait for whatever comes next.

Beginnings and Beginnings and Beginnings

/ Katie / 6 Comments

March has always felt like the time for new beginnings to me. More than the new year, certainly more than the doldrums of cold and dark January, March feels like a month for exciting changes and fresh starts.

I’m thinking about this now for a couple of reasons. The first – Rebecca over at Fake Flamenco asked for my ideas about a poetry challenge theme for this month. I don’t know if she’ll choose my suggestion, but the question got me pondering nonetheless, and here I am. The second – Y’all, am I ever ready to start writing some fiction again. So, so ready.

I’ve mentioned several times over the course of the last couple of years that I miss writing. It’s been hard to find the time to really sit down and work. Even now, as I’m typing this, Lucy is right beside me, chomping on some blueberries and watching me type. But I want to commit to finding a routine, to making a way forward, and to getting words down on paper once more. I’m not afraid of a challenge.

And in that spirit, I thought it would be fun to share some of the…let’s just call them starts…I’ve gotten on some new stories. These have come together in pieces since Lucy came, and I’m not sure where to take any of them. But I feel like there’s some good stuff here, and I’m excited to see where it might go.

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Here’s a haunted house story I started in October:

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“It’s like something out of a storybook,” said Gracie.

My sister says the same thing about orange tabby cats and latte art, but in this case, she was right. The house on the bluff was a dream. It was more than we could have hoped for. And there’s a lot you’ll ignore, when your family needs a new start. The Boatswain’s House sat quiet and empty for almost five years. Everyone thought it spent that time just crumbling. It didn’t crumble. It waited. It waited, as it turns out, for us.

There were three of us, when we moved in. Soon it would be four. My mother, my sister Gracie, and me. My youngest sister, Haley, was still in my mother’s belly. I was jealous of her, to tell the truth, warm and safe and protected in there, even before the house. At seventeen, I had two jobs, school, Gracie, and college applications to take care of. My mother, bless her, had her two jobs – waiting tables in a diner at night and managing a lawyer’s office during the day – and a home to make for us. And my dad’s mess. My father was a good man, once. Before the injury, and then the pills, and then the online gambling. I remember him before, all hugs and heart and calloused, loving hands. I haven’t seen him in years. We don’t know where he is. He probably doesn’t, really, either.

He left us in the one-bedroom apartment we had to rent because he didn’t pay our mortgage. He left, and my mother bloodied her fingers every day for months while Haley grew inside her, trying to pick up the broken pieces of the life he’d promised all of us. He meant it, when he said it, and for a long time, he delivered on it, too. She worked all the time, and when she wasn’t working, she was cooking, and cleaning, and singing and dancing and playing with Gracie and smiling even though she wanted to scream loud enough for the devil himself to hear her and answer. 

All of it changed with the house.

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And here’s something about a work retreat. (I’ve never been on a work retreat, but I hear they’re a nightmare. Seemed like good fodder for a story.):

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There’s one thing you should know about me, before I tell you this story: I am not an outdoors person. I like air conditioning, and clean bedding, and functioning toilets, and please, for the love of God, running water. But a requirement is a requirement, and so, just like all the other poor schmucks at the office, away to Camp North Star I went. If not exactly against my will, at least against my better judgment. But when the boss says “Mandatory,” well, money’s money, you know? Need it to live.

The brochure advertised four nights and five days in “scenic woodlands.” Great teambuilding activities, like “our challenging ropes course!” Gag. “Rustic cabins.” All the usual crap. And as we loaded onto the bus – a bright yellow school bus, of all things – I could tell that not many of us were looking forward to the “adventure in the mountains” ahead. Gary from accounting actually looked like he might throw up, and Susanna from HR stood there counting her hand sanitizer bottles. Bob from customer support was hosing himself down in Deet.

“God, I hope this stuff actually works,” he said, desperately, as I walked past.

“Don’t look at me,” I told him, my hands in the air, a gesture of defeat. “I’m just planning to let the bugs win.”

I went to camp once before, when I was in middle school, at the insistence of my exhausted mother.

“You’ll love it,” she’d said.

A sprained ankle, a stolen backpack, sun poisoning, and about a thousand mosquito bites had proven that mother really doesn’t always know best.

But I slapped a stupid smile on my face, and climbed aboard the big cheese, determined to prove once and for all that I was, in fact, an enthusiastic team player, and totally worthy of that promotion I’d spent the last six months chasing.  

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And here’s something about a mysterious book:

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The book waited, as books do. Books are patient things, and this one was no exception, at least in that regard. And so, in a gloomy shop on the corner of Washington and Chestnut, it sat gathering dust, minding its own business, and waiting for the day someone would notice it, pick it up, and take it home. And, best of all, read it. It had to be just the right person, and the book knew that person would come. One day. Until then, it waited.

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And here’s something about a ring. What about a ring? I’m still not sure:

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Just a ring in a shop, that’s all it looked like. Squeezed in among others, behind a shabby glass case, you’d barely have noticed it. But I did. I wish I hadn’t, but we can’t go back in time.

“Pretty one, that,” said the frail old man behind the counter. “Came in just a few weeks ago, part of an estate out in the country.”

It was pretty. Even crammed in with all the other, more flashy rings, this one stood out. A simple, thin gold band, and a bright, rainbow-flecked fire opal, cut in an oval. Understated, I remember thinking. Elegant.

“Do you know how old it might be? Or who might have made it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he answered, “but I’ll tell you what. I can give you five off the price, if you’ll take it today.”

I walked out of the shop with a lighter wallet in my purse and a new ring on my hand.

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And here are just a couple of good opening lines from two different potential stories. I’d like to do something with these one day:

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“There’s a saying in my family. I don’t know where it came from, or how long we’ve been saying it, but I’ve heard it every day, ever since I can remember. We say: There is no cure for dreaming.”

“The first time I heard it, I confess, I didn’t believe it. But lies are like that. They have a way of winding themselves into your soul, of spreading and growing and devouring, like kudzu vines on the trees, like wildfires in summer.”

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So, what shall I do with these?

I love writing. I love creating. I know that a lot of your love it, too, and that’s why we’re here: To make, and to share, and to build a community of people who support each other. I’d love to know your thoughts! Tell me which one you think I should return to first, which one’s your favorite, or which one you just don’t think you’d read.

And maybe, someday soon, I’ll post a new story.

Until then, keep dreaming and creating, and I will, too!

Weird Things Writers Do

/ Katie / 32 Comments

My name is Katie, and I have animated conversations – by myself, out loud – between characters I made up. Often on my porch swing, where all the neighbors can see. (I’m sure they’re not paying attention.)

Y’all, writers are weird.

Or maybe it’s just me?

Am I late to this party? Yeah, probably. But I was sitting outside last night, thinking about a scene I wanted to write, and acting out the dialogue – very energetically – and I thought, “You know, if someone didn’t know you, they might think you’re not all there.”

When Graham first saw my carefully chaotic assortment of mostly empty notebooks, I think he found it kind of charming. Now…well, now he knows me well enough to mostly ignore it. But also wonders why I need so many and why they all need to live in a pile on my desk but also beside the bed and in the living room and behind the driver’s seat of my car just in case I hear something funny in public and want to remember it.

He’ll never get used to the questions, though. Random questions, all the time, especially to people I just met. I’ve gotten pretty good at fitting them into the flow of a good chat, though. Like, if you met me, you probably wouldn’t even realize I’m gently interrogating you for the purposes of storytelling. Unless you’re a writer, too. Because then you’re probably doing the same thing.

I can’t remember the moment I developed most of these little weirds. Was I always like this? Probably. I used to get in trouble a lot for daydreaming, even when I was really little. I continue to view daydreaming as my superpower.

Oh, and my coffee’s gone cold. That happens a lot, too.

So anyway, are you normal, or do you too collect and hoard notebooks like they’re a finite resource?

Because if you do – if you, too, are weird like me – we should probably be friends.

The Long (Break) and the Short (Story) Of It

/ Katie / 4 Comments

Here’s the short of it: It’s been over a year. I am so ready to get back to writing. And I mean, real writing. Like, creating. You know, the magic – putting words together and making something that didn’t exist before it came together on a blank page.

Here’s the long:

Having a 1-year-old, and the year and change in between her birth and now, is busy, crazy, different every day, and exhausting. It’s also amazing, inspiring, fun, and its own kind of magic. Lucy is my whole life, and finding ways to bring her needs into harmony with my own has been a challenge that I meet in novel, interesting ways every day. Some days, I succeed, and we’re both satisfied. Some days, I…don’t succeed quite as well…and she is happy and her needs are met and I have not even brushed my teeth. Time for writing? Nah. I barely have time to eat. “Well, you’ll make time for what matters.” Dude, have you had a baby? SHE matters. More than anything else. But I matter, too. And I do want to make time.

So, where does that leave me? What does it mean?

It means that, for the next month, I’m going to sit down at least once a week and jot down ideas, and good lines of dialogue, and when I can, a few paragraphs of beginnings and endings. And come January, I’m going to start posting short stories again.

I don’t know if I’ll do a theme like I have in past years, or if I’ll try something different. Back in October of 2023, I posted the start of something fun, and maybe I’ll revisit that. I would like to know how it ends.  

I don’t know exactly what my writing will look like in the new year, but I’m going to do it, and there will be stories. I hope you’ll read them!

But for now, Lucy’s waking up from her nap.

What makes a good ghost story?

/ Katie / 18 Comments

Halloween and Christmas are my two favorite holidays, and I’d have a really hard time choosing between them. But there is one thing that I love that’s definitely more Halloween, and that’s a good ghost story.

(As you can imagine, A Christmas Carol is an absolute forever favorite. Christmas and ghosts? Yes, please!)

But over the last few weeks, as I’ve been sitting a lot, thinking about writing without actually writing much, I’ve been pondering: What makes a good ghost story? What elements come together to make something truly spooky? Or sad. Or happy. Not every ghost story has to be scary. Right?

Or should it?

When I think about my favorite ghost stories, there isn’t really anything consistent among them. Some are scary. Some are psychological. Some are funny.

I love BBC’s Ghosts, which is funny and heartwarming and about as far from creepy or spooky as you can get. I was really struck by the quiet, tense storytelling of I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House. Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House is sort of a revelation for psychological hauntings – the things that haunt us not because they’re real ghosts, but because they’re our ghosts. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman is sweet and sad. Jonathan Stroud’s Lockwood and Co. series (the books, but the show on Netflix, as well) is such an interesting exercise in building an alternate world that feels close to our own, but is one we definitely wouldn’t want to live in. And certainly some of the old stories, like The Turn of the Screw and The Tell-Tale Heart, they stick with me. That building sense of dread, there’s really nothing else like it.

All of that to say, there are so many components, I think, that can make a really good ghost story. And some that can make an otherwise great story feel hokey and silly. Jump scares are fun, but they need to be used sparingly for maximum impact. There’s more to fear in what you don’t see, what you imagine and build up in your head, than in what you do see.

I’m rambling, I know. But I’m curious. What are your favorite ghost stories? What draws you in, or pushes you away? How do you like to see ghost stories end? Do you like to be scared in the first place?

I do, within the secure confines of my comfy chair and cozy living room. And that’s the power of stories, isn’t it? To be scared – or sad, or angry, or worried – but ultimately safe.

Focus? What focus? (Or, The Art of Writing in a Construction Zone)

/ Katie / 5 Comments

I find myself once again at the end of a month without a completed short story to post. I’m working on it today, and have been for the past several days. It’s a good one, but not quite done. And that’s just going to have to be okay. I’ll have it up on Friday, so be sure to check back.

Why the delay? Well, a few reasons.

The first is that it’s not easy to focus when you’re living around dust and dealing with construction noise. Don’t get me wrong – our contractors are amazing, they work fast, and they do a really good job of cleaning up at the end of the day. But when you’re me, and (controlled) chaos in the house feels like (uncontrolled) chaos in your brain, it’s still just difficult to work around. The good news is that the dining room ceiling is stable and sound…

…and work has started on updating and expanding our master bathroom.

The second is just that life is just busy right now. I’ll share more on that next week, but for now, I’ll just say that there are lots of things, including renovations and construction, vying for my attention at the moment, and they’re all important, and I’m just not balancing them super well. I’ll endeavor to work on that in the future.

And the third? Well, it’s me. I’m the problem. I’m allowing things to distract me, and I’m making excuses. They’re good excuses (see: above), but I need to prioritize my writing. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.

So, onward, and by Friday, May’s story will be written and posted and done and dusted. The house, however, will not be dusted. And that’s okay, too. For now, I write.

Travel, Rain, and Trying to Write a Short Story

/ Katie / 19 Comments

Well, owing to a combination of a very busy week and my own poor planning, here we are, precariously close to the end of the month, and I haven’t even started April’s short story yet. Sigh.

We’re visiting family this weekend, and we drove down yesterday. It’s so nice to see everyone! And I desperately want to spend this time together, rather than tucked away in a corner trying to write. The good news is, it’s raining today! (No, seriously, this is good.) That means that it’s probably going to be a quieter, slower day, so maybe I will have some time to step away and work for a bit. We shall see.

The other good news is that we brought both Annie and Merlin down with us. Annie loves road trips, but cats don’t usually like to travel (an understatement), so we wondered how Merlin would feel. But he’s been doing great! He didn’t complain in the car, and once we got here and he explored a little bit, he pretty much decided he owns this space now, too. That cat…totally unflappable, I’m telling you.

Anyway, if you don’t see a short story from me by Sunday, I promise to post one next week. And that means two stories in May! Which is breaking my rule a bit, but I figure, we make exceptions for things that matter, right? And family matters a whole lot.

In the meantime, I wish everyone a wonderful Friday and a lovely weekend. Happy creating, y’all!

July’s Short Story

/ Katie / 7 Comments

It’ll be up by Sunday at the latest! Honestly, I haven’t started on it yet, but I will, and I’m sure it will be good.

In the meantime, I wish everyone a lovely weekend! And for now, enjoy this picture of Annie (the Snow Dog), who doesn’t like this heatwave any more than the rest of us.