I’d have to say I’ve come full circle multiple times in my life. Each time the circle closed again, I was writing and content.
As a baby, most home movies showed me cranky and often crying. To this day, I don’t know why. But as I’ve learned over the years, when I am going against my core nature, I get “rather” unpleasant.
By the time I was seven or eight, I was a happy school kid, loved to tap dance, and told my baby brother stories to get him to try vegetables (“The Adventures of Spare Gus” aimed at asparagus, and was not one of my great successes, but I had fun making it up).
In high school, I was involved in activities galore, and I loved English. Every A on an essay or short story reassured me that my love of writing would provide my career direction. Then along came a guidance counselor who convinced my parents that I had no chance of making a living at writing. My next favorite subject was biology, and I knew I wasn’t med school material, so off I went to college for a nursing degree. My only writing was limited to nursing care plans and misery poured into my diary (back then no one called them journals).
In my early twenties, I buried myself in work after the tragic loss of my fiancé in a freak accident. I guess because I was a hard worker and a fast worker, I kept getting promoted. Initially I felt intrinsically unsuited to managing other people. I soon got sucked up by unfounded pride, and I was the world’s worst manager. I expected everyone to work exactly the same way I did, and when they didn’t, I went ballistic. It wasn’t my proudest era.
Fortunately, I met and ultimately married the man who became my best friend.
It is said that we gain wisdom with passing years. By the late nineties, I knew I was unhappy with my series of jobs because they didn’t fit me (or I didn’t fit them). I started writing again, but by then our finances had become dependent on our steady jobs. So writing was secondary, but ever-present.
As the new century began, I was hired for a position that used my job strengths and did not involve managing anyone else. I was content in a job for the first time since my very early twenties. AND it was undemanding enough to allow me more writing time.
I completed Autumn Colors, my first novel, which drew heavily from the tragedy I’d experienced in my twenties, but was written as a novel. My second novel, In Her Mother’s Shoes, came a few years later.
After retiring , I launched into Gram & Me, which morphed into STAR CATCHING, released in early November 2016.
And that’s the story of me. Yeah, I left some parts out. And some people. But this was supposed to be an “About Me” page for my blog, not a whole-life memoir. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it! Thanks for stopping by!