Misha Crews

Read. Dream. Believe.

I posted this last year, but during the past twelve months, all of these things have proven truer than ever. Have a beautiful day!

The Thanksgiving mantra of a pragmatic optimist:

πŸ‚ I am thankful for my flaws, because perfection is boring.
πŸ‚ I am thankful for my mistakes, because you can’t fail unless you first attempt something.
πŸ‚ I am thankful for the obstacles in my life, because challenge is at the heart of every adventure.
πŸ‚ I am thankful for tears, because at least I can feel.
πŸ‚ I am thankful for laughter, because laughter is triumph in even the grimmest circumstance.
πŸ‚ I am thankful for YOU, whoever and wherever you are, because you are reading this.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear hearts! ❀

nature red forest leaves

Well, friends, I guess I should come clean about something: I have run away to Los Angeles. Okay, actually I drove. (By myself. Cross-country. I have never done anything like that before, and it was amazing.)

In brief, here’s what happened: about fifteen years ago, I made my first trip to L.A., and I immediately fell in love with the place. It’s not that I don’t love my home state of Virginia: believe me, I do, and I always will. But just like it’s possible to be in love with more than one person at a time, it is also totally possible to be smitten with more than one coast at a time. And I was bitten by the L.A. Lovebug. Hard. I spent the next fifteen or so years trying to convince my family to move west, and also trying to convince myself that I really didn’t want to. I was equally unsuccessful in both ventures. πŸ™‚

Then, a few months ago, I came to Los Angeles for a visit, and I managed to secure a job for myself. (You can read a little about my up-and-down employment history here and here.) Once I had guaranteed employment waiting for me, I had a guaranteed excuse to make the leap from east coast to west. And so I leapt. Totally terrified, completely unprepared, and doing it anyway.

I arrived in L.A. a little more than four weeks ago. Yes, it’s a big city, and dirty, and there’s a lot of traffic and everything is more expensive than back home. I miss my family and friends more than words can express. But I for some reason, I am happy. More than happy, I have the feeling that I am exactly where I am supposed to be at this time in my life. I may not stay forever, but I’m here now.

So, that’s a quick rundown of where I am and why I’m here. I’m including some pictures from my drive. I wish I had taken more pictures and better pictures, but these are a few of my favorites. Also, before I forget, I am writing! New releases coming soon. For real this time.

20180507_124316A few months ago, I published a series of short-short stories (also known as “Flash Fiction”) based on pictures that I’d taken. I had intended to continue writing and publishing these, but of course, I didn’t do that. (If you want to know why, read my blog post from 2015: “I Am The World’s Laziest Person,” because it is still true.) However, on a recent visit to Pennsylvania to see my amazing aunt, the sight of a tiny cottage on her property sparked a desire to write about it. So I sat for twenty minutes and wrote the following. (Yes, it took me twenty minutes to write this. I’m slow, what can I say?) I hope you enjoy it.Β 

Once upon a time, there was a little dwelling known as the Wee Hoos. Though its footprint was small, its heart was big. Sun shone through the windows. Books lined the walls. Breeze kissed the front porch and tinkled the wind chimes. And everyone who stepped across its threshold smiled and felt at home.

IMG_20180505_172049_105Years later, when the wind chimes sang no more, when the windows had grown cloudy, and the books had all been packed away, the Wee Hoos still glowed with a special light. Its walls remembered the laughter, its floors recalled brisk footsteps, its heart (for every house has a heart) still beat with happy remembrance.

Love never dies, never even really fades. It softens, perhaps, with time; it changes shape like an old sweater. But it never goes away. So the next time you pass an old house which looks lifeless and neglected, just remember that no matter its physical condition, love lived there once. And indeed, it still does.


I found the video below, which I took last year, of the Wee Hoos in the rain; this seems like the right place to share it. You can see my aunt’s pretty garden there in the front. (Note: if you are reading this in your email, you may not be able to see the video. Visit this post online to enjoy the country rain.)


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