First Things First

There I am. I’m average at a lot of stuff (except being tall. I’m above average at being tall.)

But I’m pretty good at writing, and I’m pretty good at eating.

So when my Dad gave me his hand-me-down DSLR, I thought, well what do I do with this?

This is what I did with this. That. Er, the camera. Made a food blog, I mean. Okay, you get the picture.

So here is a food blog, like every Joe Schmo and their mother has, right? Pretty much, yeah.

But as someone who has wanted a blog basically her entire life, the time was pretty ripe to make one. And by basically my entire life, I really mean basically my entire life. I have the stacks of notebooks in my closet as proof of a life spent writing.

I even have the ones saved of when I didn’t know how to hold a pencil yet, and I would go up to my mom or my brothers and say hey! write this down. 

The journalistic stories that came out of the pen of that three year old rival those of a NYT feature. (They really don’t, but at the very least they’re not fake news.)

Fast forward through homeschooling, publishing some novels at eleven years old, a bunch of AP English classes, a creative writing undergrad degree that cost way too much money, and somehow scraping by a living on writing blog posts, and I’m here. 

Here is a point where I realized I had stopped writing for fun. Somewhere between the couple thousand words a day  for work and trying to have a social life, I stopped. Where had the stories gone that filled those dozens of teetering notebooks? They got lost, in adult life and worry. 

I have general anxiety disorder and general “I’m not good enough for this” disorder. Hundreds of thousands of people are doing it, and they’re doing it better, aren’t they? Those thoughts make it difficult to sit and write the next great American novel, which I was so sure I’d do before I was thirty. 

But you know what? It’s okay. Now I’m making baby steps. 

Writing is hard. It takes time. I’m not very good at carving it out of my schedule, because I feel guilty or anxious and like I should be doing something else.

You know what you gotta carve out of your schedule to do, or else you’ll literally die?

Eating time. 

Bingo. Combine the two. 

You gotta eat. And your girl loves to eat, and cook. As you can see by this one of many examples of me holding an enormous platter of sushi I made.

Honestly, that’s who I am. A writer and an eater. Now I’ve got a camera. Why not share?

The money that doesn’t get thrown at my student loans gets eaten. I’m very slowly eating my way through Orange County. If you want to know where to eat or what to make, hit me up. 

So come eat with me. I love company. And I love making you food.