Getting a Do Over

With my birthday coming up next week, I’ve been pensive, thinking about my life and what I’ve accomplished so far. I was never one of those chicks that said I want to be a doctor and then followed through… I wanted to be everything. Fashion buyer, wife, mother of twelve, lawyer, judge, social worker…

And my life has kind of followed that path. Randomly choosing jobs, not careers. Until ten years ago.

I took a class in the MFA program. I can’t remember the official title… something about learning to work in a publishing environment, but in very big words. The class really was a way to get graduate students to be journal assistants for the university’s literary journal. Main job? Read the slush pile.

I. Loved. It.

Each week we took a pile of stories and rated them for inclusion in the journal. Some, okay, most were bad. Really bad. But some stories had a glimmer that took you away from every day life. Then we discussed what worked and what we were doing on our marketing project. I learned a lot about mailing lists that semester.

I left class each week energized and feeling attached to the world. Something I’d learned to muffle during my marriage. To be happy with something besides my husband was a sin. Yet, here I was, divorced and so happy I bounced walking to my car.

Stephen King says that when you’re doing the think you’re supposed to do you act like a Geiger counter on radioactive crack. (Or something like that…paraphrasing here.)

Writing is my radioactive crack. Now why didn’t I find out that piece of information when I was in high school?

Today's picture is my new granddaugher Lily. It's her first day at school.