top of page
hair & makeup copy.png

A little romance, a few laughs. It's all good.


While I’m waiting for my big break in the publishing world, I’ve given a lot of thought to other writing opportunities. One such opportunity is writing song lyrics. I’m not very knowledgeable about urban lingo and the idea of writing children’s songs like Baby Shark make my teeth ache (as well as being downright cruel to parents everywhere). I’ve decided that I might have a shot with Country music. Visiting friends a few years ago, I commented on a cornflake lying on their laptop. We laughed saying it would make a great line in a country song. The line stayed with me. So, without further ado, here is Cornflake on My Laptop.

(Oh, one more ado. Before Country music afficionados complain that I am mocking the genre, I refer you to the following songs: Kenny Chesney’s She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy, Trace Adkins’ Badonkadonk, and Mark Chestnutt’s Bubba Shot the Jukebox).

Cornflake on my laptop

And the pickup truck is gone

She took my beer and hound dog

Oh, baby, what went wrong?

Her email didn’t say much

Just that she found herself The One

I’m outta luck

I’ve been fucked

Up by Match Dot Com

She always tried to paint the town red

Me? Rather “watch Netflix and chill”

She’d say, “let’s try that bistro”

I’d say, “how about we fire up the grill?”

Seems small town love don’t count for much

Won’t show my hurt to anyone

I’m done with love, looking for a fuck

Through Ashley Madison

Here’s to a number one song in 2020!


Thank you. Thank you so much, Madames Me, Myself, and I as well as the Voices in my Head, my Muse, Thalia, and Toto the Turtle, my Spirit Animal.

2019 has arrived, and with it, many challenges. How much should I contribute to my 401(k) when I make less than a sixteen year earns at a NorCal Subway? Should I continue submitting my novel to agents or work on another revision? Should I “live for now” like the Pepsi slogan says? If so, I’ll probably have even less money to contribute to my 401(k).

I have a number of projects to complete this year. I have completed twenty percent of four stand-alone novels I worked on during the 2018 National Novel Writing Month. I promise to complete them by the end of the year. In addition, I plan to edit some additional novels I previously finished. If the one I’m currently submitting to agents is ever picked up and published, I’ll need other books to offer an audience as soon as possible.

Weight is also a major consideration this year. After my double knee debacle last summer, I need to lose weight, so the pain I experienced will not return. I had a cortisone shot and was told the relief doesn’t last past a few months, so I need to put less weight on them. I will recommit to exercise. Also, I need to make better food choices. The talk of walls has been divisive in the United States. But for me to lose weight, a wall is a must. So, I promise no peanut butter, ice cream, donuts, or eclairs will cross my home lest I succumb to their temptation.

There is so much I want to do with my life—too much, really. I want to publish novels, sell screenplays, sing from The Great American songbook at a nightclub, see the Aurora Borealis, learn to surf from an Australian bloke, find out what Scottish men reallywear under their kilts. So, I propose to give my body to science before death so I may be cloned. That way there will be enough Theas to go around. BUT my original self will be the one who surfs with the Aussie and learns about the sartorial ways of the Scots.

A word about The Voices in My Head. They do not feel respected. Voicism will not be tolerated in my Administration. We are all equal and as long as the Voices remain peaceful and do not advocate inciting violence, they are welcome here.

Finally, a word to those close to me but outside my sphere: my family. I love them all very much, but I do become short with them at times. My poor mother is often a recipient when she needs help with her cell phone or computer, when she complains about a lack of salt on the food I prepare or laughs when the dog bullies me. I promise to be more tolerant. But I say the following with love—it’s you, not me, who always has to have the last word. So there. Phbbbt!


Last week, at a charity visit made by Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, the Royals encountered a fifteen-year-old boy whose father had died five years ago. Seeing his pain, Prince Harry asked everyone to leave the room so that he could speak privately with the adolescent. The meeting lasted ten minutes and, according to the boy, it was “emotional.”

His Royal Highness The Duke of Sussex

Kensington Palace


W8 4PU

Your Royal Highness,

Last night, I was trying to write on the subject of “family.” Such a huge, daunting topic. I can say my mother has brown eyes and hates being called cute. Or my father’s eyes were blue, and he loved tennis. But our families are more than the mere recitation of facts. They are an amalgamation of experiences we’ve had and tell our relatives and, in turn, the stories we hear from them.

As a British Royal, you know hundreds of years of family history, both paternal and maternal. But when your mother passed away, you lost the opportunity to learn so many personal stories that she hadn’t had a chance to tell you. Stories of how she coped with life when she was twelve or fourteen or twenty. Stories that she might have told to educate, comfort, or simply make you laugh. Your godparents, aunts, and uncle might have been able to pass on a few of her stories to you, but I’m sure they weren’t enough.

So, when you asked that a room be cleared to speak privately to a fifteen-year-old boy grieving the loss of his father, you did a truly remarkable and kind thing. You showed that you understood his pain. And from what I’ve read, this is not the only time you have consoled parentless children.

There is a trite phrase we often fall back on when bad things happen: at least something goodthing came out of this. It is said as though the good compensates for that bad thing. It doesn’t do that of course, but, Sir, if you had to suffer the loss of your mother, at least now you can ease other childrens’ pain a bit by telling them that, yes, it hurts, but things do get better. I understand you said to a child who lost his mother something to the effect that your life is good now, that you have love and a child on the way. That things will get better for him as well. Your understanding and delivery of hope to children, who are grieving is probably the greatest thing that you will ever achieve as prince. Yes, you are a representative of your nation and a goodwill ambassador, but your family story will say that you are a sounding board, an advocate, a healer of wounds. And a Prince among Men.


Thea Lambert

bottom of page