Hubbs and I have never hidden our nerdiness but I am fairly new to the scene. Before meeting My Geek, I didn’t know about ComicCon, had never set foot in a comic book store, and had never seen a Star Wars movie. I was a film major with a passion for erotic fiction, R&B, and Tyler Perry plays. The closest I’d ever come to his world of geek was Jonathan Lang giving me a copy of Hitchhiker Guide to the Galaxy in high school (a book that undoubtedly still sits unread in my childhood bedroom). However, I can now wax poetic about what I feel was a missed opportunity in one simple line of dialogue in the Star Wars franchise.

Between social distancing ordinances and black male joggers being gunned down with no one to answer for it, I have found myself lost in the weeds. My letters to my emotions have ceased as I no longer find solace in writing. Writing. My lifelong love affair with the written word no longer serves me. What am I to do?

My husband has never fit into any of the stereo­typical dad roles portrayed in the TV shows I grew up with. He isn't a Cleaver coming home with a briefcase expecting dinner to be ready. He's not a Conner only there to back up my disciplinary action. He's not a buffoon, constantly messing up and needing to bring me flowers to make up for it.

"I write to give myself strength. I write to be characters that I am not. I write to explore all the things I'm afraid of." --Joss Whedon

What am I if not a writer?

I’m in love with my husband. There. I said it. I am hopelessly, happily, and madly in love with my husband.

(BEWARE THE CHEESE)

You know that moment in Infinity War when Steve Rogers comes out of the shadows at the train station? Feel that flutter? That’s how I feel that way about her man.

Love is complicated and messy. But it’s worth it.

Resolutions are empty promises we make ourselves to trick us into thinking we are going to do different—better in the coming year. Without proper research, forethought, and planning, we’ll be making the same resolutions the following year.

There's a lot to be said for sitting in a dark room plotting out your next story. Your characters come to life on the screen when it is the only source of light. The only sound is my mechanical keyboard clicking beneath my fingers. The close-enough typewriter sounds spur me on as I weave plot, setting, and character. But my insecurities start to show around the third paragraph.