Becoming "A Writer"

A lot of people have asked me how it was that I became "A Writer" seemingly overnight. To which I reply, "Magic."

The real answer:
Just because I never shared it with you, doesn't mean I wasn't doing it. ;)

The truth is, most writers, even the newbies, have been closet writers or even clueless writers for years. I have always written. When I was little, I'd write silly stories. In high school, I kept a journal. In college, I wrote a ton of papers, took writing classes, and cranked out lots of drama-filled emails. In corporate America, I was paid to write web copy, sales letters, collateral, white papers, executive communications, blah, blah, blah... My point is, I may not have been writing romantic, fantastical, super-de-duper stuff, but the fact remains, I was still writing.

So, the more accurate question to ask is: When did you decide to write fiction full time?

Oh, ho, ho - now that's the proper inquiry!

After being laid off from "a large computer company" (CYA, folks) due to an acquisition, I took stock of my situation and figured, if there was ever a time to focus on what I've always wanted to do, it was then. So, with severance in hand, I clicked open MS Word and started typing. Two months later, I had finished the first draft, joined an amazing critique group, and begun the editing process.

Fast forward to today: 5 projects in the hopper, 3 agents looking at Autumn Leaves, and 1 husband who encourages me to pursue this as a career. (He's a keeper.)

To sum everything up, my choice to become "A Writer" wasn't as spontaneous as some would think. It's been part of me; in the blood flowing through the hands flying over the keyboard. I have always been a writer and even if I don't become a literary superstar, I will always be one.

Why I Want a Husky for my Bday

Apollo 79 - Mission to Patience

Patience is a virtue, or so they say. At present, three agents are reading my manuscript. Will I be virtuous?

Do I have a choice?

Beyond the bouncing off walls following calls from New York, I'm now trapped in a state of stasis. Surrounding me is a vacuum of dark despondency highlighted with small points of light, like stars, of optimistic prediction. Navigating in this space-like environment can be treacherous. Am I to be swallowed by the negative blackness of self-doubt or burned alive by the manic flames of delusion?

There has to be a happy medium, perhaps on a friendly planet, not too close to a sun and not too deep into the void. Patience lies here; within the rich soil of restraint, flowing in the waters of acceptance, and blowing in the winds of tolerance.

To me, patience is a mission; a goal to be achieved, a place to be uncovered. We are all faced with situations requiring it, but not all of us are able to find it. I'm sure there are some that disagree - comment freely.

Moving Fun

Quick Update (in case you've missed me):

I'm currently engulfed in the process of moving. It's amazing how that small two-syllable word, "moving," can conjure all kinds of fun things like backaches, migraines, and dust-bunnies (my nemesis).

Hmm... it's kind of like saying the word, "dentist." Immediately after hearing it, rampant images of needles, suction tubes, and annoying water-squirter-thingies being shoved into my mouth traipse across my consciousness, sending shivers down my spine.

OK. Enough of that. The truck's pulling up to the house now as I speak, um, type. I must conclude my mind meanderings for the time being and turn the focus back to my recent house guests. Odious boxes, the time has come for you to disappear.