Becky Flade, Author

I've entered the mystifying world of the soccer mom. Only instead of soccer it's Tae Kwon Do. I'm not getting home till 12 hours after I left the house at which time I need to eat dinner and then do almost an hour worth of homework with a tired six year old. Then it's get her ready for bed, clean up, and try to find five minutes for me. It's totally worth it to see her in this adorable little outfit (do-bak already got a look over calling them pajamas) doing kicks and punches and saying HI-YA and YES SIR. I know it's not supposed to be freaking adorable but it really is. I'm so glad I'm in a position to do these things with her. I've only got the two girls; six and seventeen. The seventeen year old was born 19 days after my 17th birthday. Most of her childhood is a blurry memory of me always saying goodbye; as I headed to work, as I headed to school. I finished college right after her fifth birthday and our relationship was uniquely unlike any

I'm an avid Eagles fan so it would probably be amiss of me if I don't comment upon the new Offense. Michael Vick. Extraordinary athelete. Awesome quarterback. Doing things on the line that Philadelphia fans haven't seen in so long it's made me damn near misty. But as for the questions regarding his character and his prior conviction for being involved in dog fighting, well frankly, I don't care because it has nothing to do with how he plays football and he served his time. I wouldn't want him to be nieghbor but I have no qualms about him being my team's quarterback. I love animals, especially dogs, and can't understand the depravity necessary to hurt something so unconditionally giving and loving. I think the type of behavior Vick was convicted of is morally bankrupty and deserving of punishment. And punished he was. Years later, sentence served, does he deserve the chance to continue his career which frankly was completely unrelated to the o

I'm a quasi-professional writer. I say quasi only because I haven't been paid much or very often and I say professional because I have in fact been paid for my words. One of the single most exciting, and validating, things to ever happen to me was to sell a short story (bout 7,000 words) last spring to Harlequin, only the most prolific publisher of womens' fiction ever. It'll be released in electronic format this coming spring. That was the first time I actually thought "I'm a writer" without feeling the need to justify the claim. It also gave me the drive I needed to pick up a book I'd started last year and walked away from months earlier. Now I'm more than 65,000 words in, nearing the end of my story and I'm stuck. There are parts that I think are very good and parts that I think are probably very bad, and as a whole I think its probably not the best piece of fiction ever written, far from it. I don't even think it is saleable. But

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Yeah right. It’s all I’ve been drinking. I’ve replaced my Pepsi habit with spring water and let me tell you something. This sucks. Seriously. I’m in the bathroom every five minutes. I should ask IT to roll my desk and PC in the frigging stall; I’d get more work done. I know it’s going to make a huge difference on the scale over these first few weeks. But Christ on a crutch, I can hear the water in my gullet rolling from side to side when I walk. I fucking swish people. I swish. That’s how much water I got in me. And it’s not enough to drink water like a camel with a monkey on its back. It’s not enough to exercise every single day. Let me make myself exceptionally clear on this point: I like to exercise; I enjoy it. What I don’t like is the gym, well specifically the people that frequent the gym. Physical activity should feel empowering, not deprecating. People walking around in their cute little spandex work-out clothes l

I'm fat. Ugggh, that sounds awful. It is awful. I'm huffing and puffing carrying a basket of laundry up the fucking steps from the washer to the living room. Aren't I a responsible adult sitting down and folding the laundry before taking it up the next set of steps? Yeah right. I needed the fucking rest break so I could catch my goddamn breath. Sigh. No magic fix for this problem either. I know what I've got to do. I've got to exercise. Double ugggh. I've got to eat less of the foods I like and more of the foods I don't. Triple ugggh. I've got to give up my Pepsi. Scream in full on terror like a naked idiot cheerleader who just gave her virginity to the pimply kid now sticking off the end of the harpoon some hockey masked freak used to impale the little pervert. I love my soda. It's my crack. I start my day with a 16 oz cup of coffee and once I've sucked that dry I start mainlining Pepsi all day long. And I mean it. I often don&