Okay, I Give Up! I'll Hide the Horses and Breakout the Model T

Literature is full of Three's. For example, one may remember, The Three Blind Mice, The Three Wishes, or Sleeping Beauty's three fairy godmothers. For generations many have quivered omnisciently as the three Bears finished their walk in the woods, only to head straight home before Goldielocks could wake from her nap. There is one more 'three' that I personally deem significant taking place at this very moment, as I try for the third time to blog. Thanks to my sister, Cori, (now known to many in and out of the Web-World as the Go-to girl), I may finally begin my journey toward being a blogger; something my 20th century mind never dreamed of contemplating. So it is time to retire the horses and rev-up my engines.

I am a writer (or am I?) almost disguised as a teacher. I say 'almost' because I teach enthusiastically to 8th graders, many of whom may someday love to read and write. I began writing soon after I received a journal from my parents for my 8th birthday. Immediately, I recognized that my ability to express was better said in print than anything I could say verbally. By fourth grade my friend, Pamela, took those words and with loving correction, posted them on a bulletin board in our classroom. I was famous for a day as so many of my classmates copied those very words to wear upon their own notebooks. Did that make me a real writer?

In Middle School, writing for others' slipping in the occasional prepositional phrase, proved helpful in winning friends, while during high school I found other writing nerds that were willing to discuss the bruises of Steinbeck and the contemplations of Hemmingway. College proved differently, however, when writing grew into my fingernails. It was no longer a means of communicating a poem, or disseminating a part of speech to help earn my usual A on a term paper. That year writing became a mission to rescue one of my professors who simply could not write. Reading his required text made my teeth hurt. I took a chance and edited one of his texts from beginning to end and then sent it to him with what I envisioned as my last and final draft. Instead I received a phone call of 'thanks' and a request to submit next semesters print with my corrections. I wasn't aware at that time how ethical the 'writing world' is, and thought it interesting that he ask my permission. Now I wonder why didn't I get a commission? So why didn't I get a commission? I didn't ask.

During and after college, no matter what my major (yes, I'm one of those), I preferred to write about the goings-on. While in the nursing program, when I should have been enthralled with the krebs cycle, I studied religion and history in order answer my son's questions about Santa Clause. That study turned into a money making machine as I provided others with research and edited assignments to better their term paper scores. Did that make me a real writer?

I've learned that I am like most writers; I constantly question whether or not I am a writer because I am not yet published. I do, however, have a plethora of rejections filed away by date, place of submission, temperature outside, the vineyard of merlot dabbed on the back of the stamp, what slippers I wore when I opened my Dear Eager Writer letter - you get my drift...

So What's Next? I continue to submit my Children's Stories: JUNEBIRD, HOPPY THE BACKYARD COYOTE, and DOG HENRI. In the works is MATT CAT SKATEBOARD, beautifully illustrated by my friend and co-worker, Jose Moncado (he will be famous someday), and MRS. POPIT'S GOT GUM STUCK TO HER BUM. I also have two novels in the works. So What's Next? Right now it's bed for me. Goodnight.