Just Write. This is a blogger link up to Just Write every Tuesday over there at The Extraordinary Ordinary blog by Heather King– to write sort of free association, whatever pops in our heads. It’s my first time participating, but I see that this is the 76th week these bloggers have linked up their “Just Writes.” Wow.
Okay. Here goes.
Having been confined to my home for the most part over the last four weeks, I’ve been able to focus on writing for the first time in my life, actually. I’ve always been a journaler, developed content for newsletters and things. I was a staff writer for a monthly publication in college way back when, and editor for my sorority; but my career path after graduation plopped me in sales.
I had a solid career in advertising sales for interesting magazines–Modern Bride, Bon Appetit—I would write letters, proposals, marketing, that sort of thing. And I’d look longingly over at the editorial department, plugging away on their PCs developing great content out of any number of subjects. I wanted to be over there, in that department. But I kept getting promoted in sales.
I’d inquire sometimes about writing, in a round-about way so the real editors didn’t think I actually thought I was a writer. I would make a suggestion, catch an error, forward a trend that could become a feature piece for the upcoming issue.
But after a few years I pretty much resigned to myself that I was a salesperson, not writer; and I accepted that I would probably never be a writer. Besides, I made more money in sales, purchased a house on my own, paid off student loans, paid for a beautiful wedding, traveled.
I wrote two books which I never showed to anybody. The first one was called the Mind, Body, Spirit Approach to Recovery. I still have the manuscript and laugh at myself for how smart I thought I was! I wrote a lot about mitochondria for some reason? But this was fifteen years ago, so shoot me.
And I wrote another book called, “We Were Scared, Too,” in which I interviewed women around the country who had unplanned pregnancies and made the most difficult of choices: not to abort. I told their stories–I had so much admiration for these women and I wanted to show other girls caught in the same position, that yes it may be really, really difficult; but you will be okay–I worried about the emotional and spiritual ramifications abortion has on the individual woman. One of my best friends went through this.
I ended up putting their stories on a stagnant web site on WordPress here.
I remember always enjoying writing, filling pages and pages with surprising ease. Way back in my teen years, I developed a journaling habit I continue to this day. Each entry starts with Dear God:
So, Dear God: thanks for everything, really. I am blessed with so much, the husband and children—WHY can’t I write the word, “kids?” Why does that word flow out of my head, but I won’t let myself type it? Kids are baby goats, not baby humans, I remember my mother mentioning once.
So, I thank you God for my children. I thought about getting a goat when we moved to this old house, but Husband said it would eat all of our azaleas.
Dear God: thanks for these two herniated discs. Because of this, I’ve been able to really focus on writing. Not sure if I’m any good at it, but boy do I enjoy the heck out of it. Signing up for WordPress’ post-a-day in 2013 really helped me make the commitment. So, yay for that!
Today I go to the doctor and find out if surgery is on the horizon. In a way, I hope it is so I can just get this thing fixed and get back to my life. But I am sort of enjoying all this Husband driving the carpool and doing the grocery shopping thing.