Category: My Favorite Things

Normally, I keep a book with me all the time—whether it’s in my bag, car, on my nightstand, or coffee table. But this month, I haven’t read as many. Why? Because I’m writing a book! A real novel. It’s 477 pages long and has taken much more work than I expected. I’ve faced tears, headaches, sleepless nights, and moments of self-doubt. So, whenever I see my bookshelf filled with amazing novels, I feel sick and don’t want to read. Why? Now that I’ve written my own story, I worry that it won’t connect with readers like my favorite authors do. It feels like standing in front of my 5th grade giving an oral report, hoping they’ll love it as much as I do. Does that make sense? It’s 2:30 a.m., so chances are slim.

Back to why I’m sharing this post in the first place… August has been light on my reading list because I’m focused on my book coming out on Oct 6. But I have read a few books. Here they are:

I and II Samuel. Yes, those are two books in the Bible, which I count as “books I have read this month.” They are far from boring! They read like an exciting story about the prophet Samuel, who tells King Saul that God has chosen a young shepherd named David to be the next king. It’s packed with deception, murder, friendships, and betrayals. I urge you to give it a try.

Next, I read The Book Thief. I know, I’m probably the last person who hasn’t read it. Now I see why it’s so popular. The storytelling is unique and emotional—very well done.

I also go back to my “comfort authors” because I know I’ll love the characters. Charles Martin is one of the best. Books like When Crickets Cry, Where The River Ends, and The Long Way Home never disappoint.

And that’s all for August, so far.

Goodnight! Sleep well my dear friends, and please leave a review. Well, you don’t really have to leave one for this post, but when you buy my book “Because I Chose You” in October, then please leave a review! I’m going to bed now.

My grandfather carved out the attic in my childhood home in Southern California for my sister and me. We called it “the playroom.” It was a magical room where dolls were my babies, and the wooden rocking chair soothed them to sleep. This is where I dreamed of being a mother. The hand-crafted kitchen cupboard with drawers, countertops, and a sink was filled with miniature cookware and plates with little roses around the edges. This is where I fantasized about being a wife someday, just like my mom. The turquoise-colored carpet that felt rough under my feet and the slanted roof gave me the sensation of being in a cozy cabin. The window at the far end could be opened when it rained, and the smell of wet leaves from the lemon groves behind our house was a scent I’ll never forget. The drops of rain sounded like pebbles hitting the roof. This is how I learned to love rainy days.

It was the perfect spot to read a good book and get lost in the adventures of The Trixie Belden mysteries. I learned the art of snooping or eavesdropping in the Playroom. I found the air vent in the floor connected to the air vent in the family room below. Hours were spent listening and gathering tidbits of data – just like Nancy Drew. This is where I dreamed of being a writer.

I hoped my children, one day, would have a little magical spot where they could dream about flying to the moon or being a detective solving crimes. Whatever the dream, every child needs a special place, all their own.