AuthorBecky Lyn Rickman writes because it is the only way to placate the voices in her head so she doesn't miss out on that precious 45 minutes of sleep every night. Life can become a little congested for her in the 400 sq. ft. apartment in which she lives, intentionally, like a mushroom, pounding at the keyboard in the dark with the unsolicited assistance of her two therapy cats, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Yes, they are Austenian. She spends a few hours each day shamefully lamenting the fact that her faith won't allow her to be a profanity-spewing, bourbon-guzzling, burning-the-midnight-oil chain smoker. The rest of the time, she spends in shameless gratitude that her children have not, as yet, put her away. Archives
October 2019
Categories |
|