You could say I always wanted to be an author.
Before I could really do much more than write my name, I would spend long periods of time (as long as my little kid attention span would allow) scribbling elaborate (to me) pictures and making up stories to go along with them. I have vivid memories of sitting at the kitchen table, my obnoxiously yellow Crayon Caddy in full use, narrating this or that crazy confabulation to my mom, my babysitter, my toys, or even myself (When you're an only child and have no friends living within walking distance, talking to yourself is perfectly acceptable. Sometimes). I took what I could get.
Then in 1985, I won the Young Author Award for my second grade class. I don't recall the plot, but I know it was titled "Rainbow Brite Meets My Little Pony". Total Fan Fiction...before the concept of Fan Fiction even existed. Technically, I probably shouldn't have won, considering my characters were most definitely not original (My most sincere apologies to the creators for my unauthorized use of their characters). But I was 8, and trying to explain the concepts of plagiarism and copyright infringement and fair use to someone that young is like trying to explain quantum physics to a dog. They hear you talking at them, and maybe they catch a familiar word ("walk," "sit," "treat"), but they don't understand. I didn't profit financially from it, so it was probably ok? Either way, I got to go to this really cool Young Authors Convention at the community college, which, if nothing else, got me out of school for the entire day. In hindsight, I kind of wish I still had that story, considering My Little Pony and Rainbow Brite are both hip and cool again. Bet my mom has it stashed somewhere...along with all my other childhood scribbling she's horded.
In high school, I had the same teacher for sophomore and senior English. My teacher, Mr. Litaker, encouraged the class to write every day. Whether an essay about our first fishing trip or an analytical opinion piece--with support from the text--about Fahrenheit 451, we were made to write, write, write. The teacher was the no-nonsense type and the assignments were challenging in the way they really made me think. I can thank these classes and this teacher (Thank you Mr. Litaker!) for reintroducing me to the written word and cementing my desire to become a writer.
In college I majored in journalism (with a couple creative writing classes sprinkled in for fun and flavor) and, afterward, worked 10+ years for various area papers. I held a couple staff writer positions, but was mostly freelance stuff.
In 2004, I'd gotten sick of the dirty politics of the journalism field. And I don't mean local government. Those guys are tame compared to the sneaky competitiveness and backstabbing that went on right in the newspaper office. Among the very staff who was, supposedly, supposed to be working together as a team to produce a product every week. Stuff went on in that office that was worthy of reality TV. Or middle school. I loved the writing aspect, but hated the bullies and mean girls (and, yes, there were bullies and mean girls), so, rather than play the game, I got out. And I don't regret leaving for a second. One of the best choices I could have made.
After brief, between-the-careers stints selling everything from pizza to AT&T services, I went back to school and got my degree in Library Science... And 7 years later, I'm beyond happy with my career choice. I'm currently a Young Adult/Teen Librarian at an awesome local library. I get to plan fun programs and read as much YA Lit as I can--for free!
I also met my future husband, dated, got married (eloped to Hawaii), and adopted two rescue cats.
Through all those life changes, I kept writing. Mostly journaling (the old school way) and the odd short story, but I dabbled in the idea of full-length novels. And I still want to be a published author (the stuff I wrote for the paper doesn't count).
Maybe I'm finally on my way to realizing that dream!
No comments:
Post a Comment