Kelly Flowers

writer


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The 48 Hour Wedding (Also, Apparently I’m A Stress Junkie)

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Hot tub’s are just places where bad decisions are made. It wasn’t “Swimming Pool Time Machine” or “Couch Time Machine”. They knew what they were doing. Hot tubs are their own kind of transport, rife with half-baked schemes, incomplete epiphanies, insincere flattering and unreasonable promises (and usually a fuzzy enough memory to never learn).

Late at night, sipping something strong and looking at the stars, more things are possible. Like running, for instance.

“I swear,” you say in a staccato mash of words. “I’ll be up at 6am to run that 10k with you. I loooove running.” Bah!

A polar bear swim, that extra finger of Sailor Jerry (you know who you are), committing to a 6am 10k, writing a book, a fourth child. You know. Whatever.

But occasionally an intriguing idea actually pops up and whoever is present swats at it for awhile. (In my hot tub’s defense, much of my book has been concocted while sipping something strong and staring at the stars)

Last Friday, with my sister and her fiancé in town, we sat in the blue glow of the jacuzzi, ripe for making life-changing decisions. Out of the blue, my sister’s fiancé says “I want to get married. Like now.” And we laugh. Hahaha. Get married now? Haha.  You’re hilarious. But… “Would it be that crazy?” I say and we swat at the idea for a little bit.

The answer is yes. It would be crazy. 48 hours?! My kind of crazy. I was already planning a wedding in my head. You didn’t know I liked planning weddings, did you? It’s a little hobby I have.

This was on Saturday. Wedding day would be Monday, before they left town on Tuesday. Muahahaha! What a thrill.

Aaaaand 48 hours later, we were sipping champagne and giving cheesy, teary, impromptu speeches. Fondly admiring our masterpiece, shotgun wedding.


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Just Have Less Time – Stress, Day Drinking and Ninja Writing

The last 24 hours have been… well, let’s just say… I’m day drinking.  You want stress? Try herding 7 people, including an infant and toddler, through TSA airport security (only to have your 16 year old randomly pulled aside for secondary as she is EVERY time we travel. Profile a’ready. Just sayin’.) and onto a plane where everyone needs water, food, books and headphones all at once and you, (being the responsible traveller that you are) have them all packed in YOUR carry on.


Remember the scene in Home Alone where they leave the kid behind? I totally get that now.

So now, all 7 of us are turbulating (Yeah yeah. Not a word. Today it is.) over the country. The kids and bags are accounted for and everyone is either snoozing, watching frozen or obsessively playing solitaire. But not me. Nope. I have a sleeping 3 month old in my lap and one hand free so I am one-handedly (the left hand even) typing on my phone and glugging Cabernet.

Ninja writing like a boss! And you know what? I’ve been on fire this last week. My house is impeccable. My to do list is the shortest it’s been since… well… since the last time I left town. And I’ve managed to knock out the writing projects that keep getting pushed to the next list and the list after that because, what the hell, right? May as well leave with every ball out of my court. And besides schlepping two carts of luggage and a straggling crew through the entire terminal, I’d say I’m only a 6 on the stress Richter scale.

I think I’ve discovered a new theory on life management.

HAVE LESS TIME.

The last week wouldn’t have been as productive if I didn’t have an impending absence because I would’ve undoubtedly mosied through my list while intermittently snapchatting or trolling Instagram. (The jury is still out on whether these things can be considered productive on some level. How else would I know what “ish” is or what Gigi Hadid had for breakfast? Who gets to say which information is valuable?)

So yeah. Have less time. (Disclaimer: writer is unaware of long term affects of this theory. Please day drink responsibly.)

ninja


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Skeletons (aka journals) In My Closet

If you asked my 11 year old self what I wanted to be when I grew up, I wouldn’t have wavered. I would have replied that I wanted to be a writer. And that never changed. I didn’t even major in something practical, as was suggested by those that love me.

I ended up studying literature and working in business writing, which, funny enough, turns out to be very practical.

Fast forward a couple decades and here I am, spending my weekend cleaning (because that is what all neurotically busy mothers do). While sorting boxes in a storage closet, I came across the roots of my ambition, my first journals dating back to that 11 year old self. I remember filling them over the years (there are at least 15) with what I imagined was pure genius, prodigy even. Continue reading


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So This Is What My Life Looks Like.

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Snapchat. Oh snapchat. How else would I project a life that is way more interesting than the one I actually live?

Of course. Sometimes it’s pretty spot on, maybe too spot on. After taking a picture I often look at it and think, “Hmm. So that’s what my life looks like, huh?”

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Take this morsel of my snapchat story for example. (Why, you ask, am I spending my limited spare time on snapchat? To this I say, I have no idea. See second picture for further proof of this squandered nap-time hour.)

In my snap of novel editing, notice the fancy alphabet placemat and literary classic If You Give A Moose A Muffin. This is how you write like a Ninja.

This, I’ve come to accept, is a proper representation of where I’m at. Let’s just call it well-rounded. Mmm-kay?


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Write Like A Ninja – Without Giving Up Twitter

ninjaWriting Ninja Meets Social Media

Ok. So nobody here wastes time on the Internet, but if we did…

I love social media. I’m not one of those people that opines how dumb social media is and then secretly stays up till 2am in the sickly blue glow of their screen, creeping photos of their exes. (You know who you are)

But, let’s be honest, that’s kinda fun. No other forum feeds this base part of ourselves, the voyeurism part. That’s why I’ve always wanted to be invisible. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. are like invisible cloaks that allow you to spy on everyone else and maybe show an elbow or an ankle every now and then.

I have a Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, tumblr and LinkedIn, (arguably the most useful on this list and where I spend the least of my time, making my priorities pretty obvious). And like I said, I love them.

Not necessarily because I’m addicted to social media. (Noooooo) Continue reading


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A Cure For Your Wandering Eye – Be A Finisher

When I first started writing my book, it was intoxicating! I spent hours thinking about my characters and story and prattled on and on about it (…to my husband, because I was too much of a chicken to tell anyone else). I was excited, inspired, smitten.giphy2

Halfway through my first draft, the sparkle started to dull. Writing a novel became a chore; more of what it really is, which is damn hard work. And I started to cheat. I’m not proud of it, but I started giving my love, and spare time, to other projects.

I’ve always believed that there are two kinds of people: Starters and Finishers. I, along with many other right-brained, creative types, would consider myself a starter. That’s why business writing is a good fit for me. It’s generally served in bite-sized pieces.

With bigger projects, I begin with gusto, Continue reading


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Word Hoarding – How I Learned To Let It Go

Folkmanis-Pack-Rat-Puppet--pTRU1-6956404dtI’m a pack rat. But I’m an organized pack rat. Ok, Ok. I might also have a few hoarding tendencies. There. I said it. (Most pack rat/hoarders are also in denial. So, yay me.)

Luckily, because I am unwilling to part with my psychosis, I’ve developed techniques to manage it. For instance, I’m the master at Garage Box Tetris. I can fit more office supplies in a drawer than you would think possible. And closets, well actually, let’s not talk about closets.

It’s just that I still see value in lots of things I no longer need. And that counts for words too. Writing needs obvious focal points, right? The problem with word hoarders, like me, is that it’s hard to see the focal points because there’s too much junk in the way. You see where I’m going with this.  Continue reading