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Numb, excited, little bit worried; put them all together and you get a milestone breaker. A day I never really thought would come. Thank-you’s are the first thing that pop into my head. I thank the day that my good friend Barb brought another of her gal-pals with her to sit around my pool, a couple summers ago. We did what any hard working women of this century, do! We drank margaritas, watched the kids try to drown each other and talked about life. It was in this moment when Barb’s friend broached the subject about her artwork. She’s very talented, by the way. Her art has a very sensual feel to it. Somehow, I ended up talking about how I used to write—a lot. How much I loved it, but I hadn’t picked up a pen or tapped on the keyboard for twenty years. She gazed at me for a second and simply asked, “Why aren’t you doing it then?”
It was one of those moments in life when you know, absolutely know, that your path has changed, forever. And I started to write again. I tormented a couple of my friends after that with poorly written draft copies of stories, and they patiently and kindly urged me on—thanks Vicki! It took a while to get my engines up and running, but eventually I got the “ol Grumman Goose” to fly again. It was a long runway, but I lifted above the trees just before crashing into them, and now I don’t want to land.
Life around my home changed drastically. My husband and youngest stepson made their own dinners, washed their own laundry, and put up with dust bunnies everywhere, but they too were patient and understanding. The cable TV was cut off, because no one watched it anymore, Nevada (blog dog) looked longingly into our eyes, wondering why she wasn’t getting as much play time. And when the guys weren’t home, she’d sneak up stairs, and lay beside me while I pounded out my stories. (That made up for some of the playtime.)
Of course, my biggest fear was my choice earlier in life, not to pursue an English major in university. Instead, I chose the sea. As I dove into the literary world again, relearning my craft, it became apparent that many writers (most actually) had that university degree. For a while, I stalled, intimidated, thinking that I might not get a break because I didn’t have those letters behind my name. I didn’t have time to go back to school, but with the help of books, research, and the internet I found what I needed.
I had to remind myself that some of the greatest storytellers in the world never sat a single
day in Lit101. The beauty of writing starts as a seed in the mind, is watered by the needs of the heart, and eventually is born into a tale. It’s true—I don’t have those letters behind my name, but I think of my writing like it’s a bridge: It’s not architecturally designed, made of steel and concrete. Instead, it’s made of straw and mud, but it’s safe to cross, to enjoy, and at the other end you’ll realize, you’re smiling.
