Dear Self, Writers Actually Write

Incoming…Another rant.

I don’t want to write anymore.

Okay, I do but not like the person I am today. I want to write like the person I was three years ago. The person who didn’t give a rat’s ass about showing or telling and all the fluffy rules and grammar twang that came with writing.


So back then when I penned my first novel I did it with just thinking about the story and what I wanted to get across. And…of course, as a budding writer I wanted to learn more. I wanted to know the Dos and Don’ts of writing so I could be a professional at my craft.


Well, punch me in the face and call me…


I put my fingers on the keys to write, and I do write but often I find myself stopping and over thinking shit. Like, why is the sentence passive, why use ‘was’ so much, try another fuggin’ word, Sheri. And before you know it, I’m in the refrigerator looking for juice, chocolate, and binge watching Netflixxy.

I expanded my knowledge and became overly critical of myself, leaving my writing to suffer. Yay me…

Hey, I know learning is essential. I just wish I did it a different way. I think I’ve absorbed so much that I want to put everything I’ve learned into one thing. (More like one sentence…)

I wish I was as naive as three year ago— writing love stories from my heart without editing, re-editing, erasing, deleting, and screaming. Oh, the blissful days. 🙄

I wanna write shit nonstop. I want to write into the middle of the night without thinking about whether the word I used was ill-fitting or stiff like cock!

I am grateful for all the information I’ve gathered to improve my writing process…I really am. But it ain’t worth shit if I ain’t fuggin’ writing, dammit!

I aim to end that by the end of the year. *Cough*

Two months ago, I removed Grammarly. That damn thing added to my handicap. Underlining shit. Suggesting stuff that didn’t make sense. I deleted its ass. My writing moved from one sentence to two. I did go back to the sentences though, but not because of Gra–

I could use “Mr G” but only after finishing a chapter or something. Ha… if I ever meet that far. I would take it with a grain of salt because I don’t want to replace the words sickly sweet with ill sugary. Like what??

Anyway… Before I get sued or something.

I want to move ahead. Make more stories. In 2018 and 2019 alone, I wrote 6 books. SIX!

This year? Zilch!

My keyboard got ants living beneath it. All that chocolate and snacks. (I am literally using my phone to write this rant. I’m afraid of the ants.)

When I start, it feels like a chore. No joy because I think about the wrong I’m doing. The atrocities. I probably look like a psychopath staring at was and -ing words. Ha! Passive words. Passive words!!!!!!!

*Bangs head on chest of drawers…*

I don’t have a degree in English. I have one in Social Work. I’m more a math person. But yet I’m writing.


To my future editors…Have a bottle of rum nearby. Not wine. Rum—so you can slap it on your forehead when you get a migraine.

To bad grammar and unedited writing…I want you. You were something good in my life. 😭

Okay that’s all the ranting for now.

If you hear back from me, I hope it’s in a positive light and I’ve decided to take part in NaNoWriMo.

And not getting thick off of dark chocolate.

If you felt this way at some point in your write-life, blink twice, comment, or hit the like button.


An Exhausted Housewife’s Journal

I wasn’t like this—drinking, crying, hating myself and everything that breathed around me.

Every time I try to dig myself out of this hole, something drags me back in.

I wanted to tell him about the million evil things he did to me internally, but it meant nothing if he never listened. He would put up this wall and shut me out as if I never existed. I despised him for that. For thinking I didn’t deserve his precious time.

He made me like this. He stopped being the man I met eight years ago. He stopped being…him—sweet, loyal, caring, attentive….

All the late nights and days of coming home smelling like another female’s perfume. And though he said that most of his clients were females and it was bound to rub off at some point, I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe everything he said, but my heart knew different.

He tells me that I’m being paranoid and jealous, and maybe I was because there wasn’t any physical evidence, but I knew. I felt it. The deceit, the lies, the affairs…I felt them deep within my soul.

No amount of gifts, or clothes, or luxury trips made me forget that.

How was I to confront these feelings when he barely entertained me? When he was busy with clients, busy with work, busy being…busy?

I was nothing but a mere object—a medal he won to show off to his friends. I detest what I had become for him. I was so much more before this. But my love for this man is relentless. He is my rock, my sole provider, and the other piece of my heart. He completes me.

Maybe if I worked harder to love him, he would truly see that I was the only one meant for him. But this wasn’t a one-man show—we both had to come together to make this work.

It had to work. It must work.

Our anniversary would be up soon, and I think planning some time alone should definitely work.

And if all else fails…

I don’t even want to think about it.

Sacha’s journal prior to The Cabin. Read The Cabin now on Amazon. Available in Ebook and Paperback format. Select the photo below.

Thanks for reading!

Freebie Alert! Who Doesn’t Want Free Stuff?

Okay, so let me be frank. This was not clickbait. You are actually getting something for free.

For everyone who wanted to get my book and didn’t want to pay for it…(I know it’s like that sometimes. Heck, I’m like that.) The Cabin is yours to take, for a limited time only.

Yes! I said it. FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fahreee!

Only the Ebook though, because…well, we know paperbacks are in a category by themselves. With printing costs and all.

Select the picture or here to be redirected to the Amazon page of your country.

This promotion runs from 22-26 July 2021. So, if you know, you know. Download the thing and read it a month later or whenever. At least you got it.

And as always, when you’re finished reading it, leave a review. Feedback is nice…(and depressing) but let’s not get into that. The Cabin is there for your taking.

Thanks for reading. Until next time boo.