The hardest part of this whole "starting over" thing is figuring out who I am. Or at least who I want to be. I've worn a lot of hats in my life. Some of them didn't fit very well. Some of them fit so well that I wore them until they were threadbare and then my head sunburned. Some of them it turned out weren't really my hats, so I was happy to turn them over to someone else that could wear them more efficiently.
Through it all, the one thing I've always been is a writer. Whether it's been professionally or just jotting down thoughts I've always been happiest with a keyboard and a blank screen in front of me. There are people in my head that are clamoring to get out. Not in a crazy, "should I tell my therapist about this" kind of way, but they just have stories that need to be told.
Unfortunately, the publishing industry is a fickle mistress. Master? I think it's male actually. I've always said "If it has tires or testicles, it's gonna give you problems." Yes, the publishing industry is definitely masculine. I have received glowing letters of encouragement from numerous agents and publishers telling me what a great writer I am and how "someone" is going to be very lucky to sign me, but unfortunately, at this time, blah blah blah. Yeah, I know, a lot of writers would be tickled to get anything but a form rejection letter, but after a while, the compliments mean nothing if they're not followed up with a check. I can't pay bills with compliments. I can't heat my house with the warm glow of having some agent telling me that "my fresh Southern voice" was going to create best-sellers. Yeah, it's nice. Now, stop applauding. Throw money.
In between writing gigs, I've done just a little of everything from selling old lady clothes in a downtown store in small town Alabama (a store that always smelled like baby powder and vegetable soup and old lady perfume) to line editing manuscripts for a hoity toity New Yawk publishing house. I've owned a horse riding stable and a dog grooming shop. I had a fabulous herb greenhouse business that was growing (no pun intended) nicely, but ended abruptly on the winds of a tornado. I've lived on a big farm (100+ acres) and a little one (9 acres) and am now considering moving to something more "urban."
I've changed so much with the years. I know you're suppposed to, but I miss the me I was at some of those times. Glad to see other mes go. Curious to see who the next me is going to be. Lots of resumes going out next week to jobs across the country. I'm willing to relocate. A lifetime in one zipcode is enough. I'm hoping someone will give me wings, because i am ready to fly.
THAT'S MY STORY
I've never been normal. I've never tried to be. I can't imagine anything more boring.
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