Tag: Emily Girard
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Dog Days: She’s Back!
It’s been a long couple of months for William. Mama’s been stuck in her recliner, knitting, watching Law & Order on repeat. Not much creativity these days. Not that it changes much in his little world. I’m still here, but I think he knows I haven’t been myself. I haven’t been happy. In 2025, I…
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Through the Fog
It’s been a long time. Too long. I gave myself the month of January to decompress from writing. No pressure to draft even one sentence. Three novels in one year. I’d earned a break. Then February slogged by. Frigid temperatures. Snow-crete that felt like it would never melt. Short days and long nights. Probably some…
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Book Three is DONE!
Book Three is DONE! (So why don’t I feel anything?) Just last week, after suffering for two weeks with the flu (during my much-needed beach vacation over the holidays), I finally wrote THE END on the last page of my current manuscript. I’ve only written that three times in my life, all in the year…
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A Quiet Goodbye to November
On empty nests, mountain overlooks, and the gentle ache of moving forward This essay was also published by Quirky Rants on Medium (December 2025). Read it on Medium here. It’s the last day of November. The holidays are in full swing — music, decorations, food. It’s one of the busiest times of year for everyone, and easy to get…
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Getting Sober Didn’t Just Save My Life—It Made Me a Writer
After forty years of struggling, I succeeded only after learning to be myself For forty years, I started novels I never finished. I had the talent, the training, the desire, but something always stopped me before I could type THE END. I told myself I was too busy, too tired, that the story wasn’t working.…
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Seven Nights, One Mountain
Seven Nights, One Mountain: What Medicine Teaches About Querying On fog, mountains, rejection, and finding light when you can’t see it This essay was originally published by New Writers Welcome on Medium (November 2025). Read it on Medium here. THIS MORNING, LOW fog shrouded the hospital. I know this because, with two minutes left in my…
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Living in Limbo
IT’S NIGHT FIVE of seven, and I’ve had an exhausting day. A day where I expected highs or lows, but ended up where most querying authors stay for too long—smack-dab in the middle. Some background: In early November, I scheduled a query-letter-plus-first-thirty-pages consultation with a reputable writer website. Yes, it was bought and paid for,…
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Dog Days: Notes from the Den
Meet Ruthie and William: the den’s resident odd couple, canine comedians, and daily inspiration. Some writers have muses. I have something better: Ruth Bader Ginsberg Girard and William Shakespeare Girard. They’re my den-mates, comic relief, and daily reminder that character really is destiny. Ruthie weighs six pounds and carries herself like a Supreme Court justice with…
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Writer’s Retreat
Truly, Smith Mountain Lake is a beautiful place. Something about being there in mid-November was especially serene. No jet skis, although I did spot one brave waterskier tucked into a wetsuit. But mostly, it was just quiet. The wind, strong all weekend, was a constant companion, trying to shake the last of the leaves from…
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Surface
I took a lot of pictures at the lake this weekend. Autumn landscapes beneath blue skies. Trees releasing the last of their leaves, showing off flashes of bright color before winter strips them bare. I thought those would be the photos I’d share—the ones that prove I was somewhere beautiful, making memories, living a story…