Tattoos & Tommy Boy Vibes

"Sometimes getting tattooed and enriching a manuscript are the same thing—both require sitting still, enduring some discomfort, and trusting the process will make everything come together."

I lost my voice this week.

Not metaphorically. Like, actually couldn't talk. Which if you know me at all, you know this is a problem. I'm a talker. The kind of person who fills silence because silence feels weird and uncomfortable and I'd rather just keep going.

At one point my husband—all 6'5", 300 pounds of tattooed sexy saint—looked at me and said: "I have an idea... STOP TALKING."

Classic us.

Jacob is the quiet one. I'm the one who never shuts up. So much so that someone once knocked on his truck window at the grocery store and said, "Are you Becca's husband? I recognize you from social media." He messaged me afterwards. Didn't say he hated me (because he would never), but he implied I was the very worst.

The man is a saint for dealing with Josey and me.

This week I also got tattooed. We didn't add anything new this round. We filled in the blank space between the Valkyrie warrior (breast cancer can fuck right off) and the crowned lion (my faith-based tie-in). Shaded the roses on the back of my arm. Added fine lines to the cathedral windows. This is the appointment that makes all the other hours in the chair worth it. The one that connects everything and makes the whole sleeve pop.

Funny how that's exactly what I'm doing with the manuscript.

Chapter 8 is done. Enriched. I added 1,300 words of texture—the kind that puts you in my body living this with me instead of just reading about it. Ron Burgundy's "rich mahogany" energy. Tommy Boy's existential spiral. The Starbucks corner spot. The marketing director's slow side-to-side head nod of disapproval.

The story was already there. Now I'm filling in the gaps.

The outline looks good. But the shading? The fine line work? That's what makes it art.

Same goes for tattoos. Same goes for writing. Same goes for showing up even when you've lost your voice and your head feels like a bowling ball and you're about to solo parent a three-day out-of-state volleyball tournament feeling like absolute garbage.

Josey and I are headed to the tournament this weekend. Neither of us feels good. Jacob gets to stay home in peace and quiet. Lucky bastard.

Wish me luck.

Manuscript Update:

Current Status:

• 19/19 chapters complete (structure)

• 33,175 words across first 8 enriched chapters

• Chapter 8 enrichment: Complete (~1,300 words added this week)

• Workflow: Typed Q&A method (voice memos are dead to me)

• Chapters remaining: 9-19 (11 chapters to go)

• Self-doubt status: Still lurking but quieter

What I'm learning: Sometimes you need to stop trying to sound smart and just tell the damn story. Sometimes losing your voice forces you to shut up and listen. Sometimes getting tattooed and enriching a manuscript are the same thing—both require sitting still, enduring some discomfort, and trusting the process will make everything come together.

Still becoming.