A Time Such as This

What did you envision yourself being as an adult when you were about 10?
Did it change to something else when you were about 15?
Did it change again when you graduated from high school or college?

I’ve mentioned on this blog before that I used to sit at my typewriter and bang out short stories. Very dramatic plot lines and unexpected twists spawned from the mind of a kid in 3rd grade. My thoughts and ideas would pour out on fresh paper that I’d carefully tuck away for safekeeping in my hidden vanity drawer. Here’s the thing~ that “hidden” drawer was well known to my mother. Decades later, I realize my parents surely had a good laugh about my treasured short stories when I wasn’t looking. What mom wouldn’t be curious about the thing that consumed so much of her child’s time?
I did this writing from the time I could spell until early high school when my days became more focused on the things that have long been forgotten. If you grew up with a passion, did it become part of your life as an adult? I think those people are blessed…to see their vision to fruition. What a gift.
Most of my passions have come to light. I wanted to be a wife and mother and if I had done nothing else in life, my life would have been complete by being part of my little family of 4. I also always loved animals. When my dad wanted to give away our poodle when I was in the 4th grade, I took Jo-Jo on a walk to a cemetery that was behind my house and on the mausoleum steps, I swore to this puff ball that we’d run away together before I ever let that happen. I remember sobbing into his white curls and my dad must have softened when he saw my tear streaks later because that was 1974 and Jo-Jo passed away quietly in our back yard in 1988. Today, I’m pretty immersed in dogs. If you know me, you’re probably smiling right now. I wanted to be a writer. In my various jobs over the years, I’ve written anything they’d let me get hands on. Articles, procedures, newsletter blurbs, directions to the bathroom….didn’t matter. If something needed to be written, my hand would shoot in the air.  My love of writing is what spawned this blog. It’s been my outlet, my cathartic resting place and my encourager.
Yesterday, the Editor of a direct mail news source in my part of town called me after I answered an ad for a Freelance Writer. I truly had no hope of getting a return email, let alone a phone call. No, sir, I have no experience as a freelance writer. No, sir, I don’t really have anything to show you but here’s my blog link if you want to browse through it, I’d love your feedback. He did peruse through a post or two and when he called me, his first words were “Congratulations. You can write.” Those 3 words from a professional writer and editor who has 30 years of professional experience to back it up? Well….priceless.
He’s giving me an opportunity to report on a local business for the May issue. He’s actually going to pay me to do it. Do you know what that means? I’m a bona fide freelance writer. (Well, I will be when I am actually published in May.) I’m over the moon, walking on rainbows, dancing on clouds and any other flowery description that captures my feet not being on the ground.
I took a chance and risked embarrassment by just asking for a chance.
You can take a risk, too. No matter how outlandish it seems or how impossible it appears.

Am I writing for the NY Times? No. Am I a paid freelance writer? You bet I am….and I’m going to be the best one I know how to be because that kid sitting at her typewriter when she was 10 years old wanted this and I remember her clearly.

Be blessed.
Amy