Tuesday, March 22, 2011

When I Grow Up

Morning Readers,

     Mmmm....smell that? No. It's not success. But we'll get to that. It's actually Black Silk; yet another concrete testament to Folgers and their magical ability to take ugly, little beans and crush them into bits of roasted heroine. Between the violent shakes of my hands, I'll try and keep typing. A good idea, if I want to get to where I'm going. Oh, where's that? I apologize, Readers. We're so close, I just assume you're privy to every little thought and/or epiphany I have, at any given moment. In short, I know what I want to be when I grow up. And it's not a Ninja Turtle.

     Richard Ford once said, "Marry somebody you love and who thinks you being a writer's a good idea." When I said, "I do", way back when I could zip-up my wedding dress, I didn't have the slightest clue that I was following Mr. Ford's advice so closely. But I did. And it's a good thing because last night's bedtime conversation wouldn't have gone smoothly.

"Honey? You awake?"

"Mmm?"

"I think I've found my calling."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to be a writer. An actual writer...the kind that writes books..... I think I've found my calling, you know? What I'm supposed to be doing. I started a manuscript. I already set it up in a word document and everything."

"Sounds good Honey. Goodnight."

     If that wasn't total support, I don't know what support looks like. Ok, it could look like a man who sits up all night discussing his wife's hair brained career aspirations, while sipping wine and sensitively asking how she "feels" about her decisions...But, let's be  realistic; a grunt of approval from a husband is just as validating. And at the very least, he didn't respond with, "Why don't you take up something useful...like welding?"
      The Internal Critic can be an ass. He's bald, smells, and I sit and listen to him a little too often, sometimes. But after some very kind and encouraging words from one of my dear Readers, I spent yesterday contemplating the pursuit of my dream. Horrified at the prospect of waking up when I'm seventy-five, staring around my bare walls (I'm not sure why they're bare. Does Pottery Barn remove the elderly from their mailing list? ...), and realizing that I never just did what I always wanted to do, I've put my foot down and decided to actively pursue my literary aspirations.
     So today, I pull up that Word document. I type out words. I put them into sentences. And I'll do all of that..umm.....right after another cup of coffee.

Until Next Time Readers!