My Calling 

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I’m not a typical writer. I barely use a desk and I rarely use my computer to take notes. I’m a notebook and pen kind of girl and I take them with me everywhere I go. I carry a backpack instead of a handbag, I wear jogging pants instead of jeans, and I’ve given up heels for Chuck Taylors.

I walk or ride my bike everywhere I go and I’m known to stop and chat with complete strangers at any time. Funny how being an introverted writer can make me come out of my shell in the name of finding a story. I genuinely love listening to other people’s stories. 

Maybe it stems from my time in journalism, but I got out early enough that I wasn’t considered a leech for information. Or maybe it’s because I have an inherent respect for humankind. I was an awful journalist. But I’m grateful for the time I spent doing something interesting in spite of my failings. Or maybe I didn’t fail. I took the best knowledge of the field and I learned my lessons. Maybe that’s a huge win.

I don’t write to make money. I’ve already tried that and I sold my soul. After learning that life lesson, now I write to tell my stories. And I only hope someone out there can relate.  

My second book will be done (hopefully) this year. I’d love to have it hit the book store shelves by Christmas. Maybe I’m pushing myself too hard, but maybe not. I feel like I have my focus back after a multi-year absence. I have time now that my son is older. And I have the ambition to get back on the horse and ride. Things seem to be falling into place right now and I need to capitalize on my opportunity. 

Journalism is not my calling. I like doing it for the most part. But it pushes me beyond my comfort zone and forces me to be someone I’m not comfortable being. So I gave that up. 

Being an author is much more my style. So, dear life, I will listen to your guidance and focus on being who I am. 

I am a writer. 

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