A Little Bit of Me
College blows – there’s no way around it, and anyone who’s made it through their BA can tell you the same thing (I guarantee it). With that being said, I’m still doing it (and I still hate it), but it’s a necessary evil I’m happy to be pursuing. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun along the way, right?
Which is where the writing part comes in (it also keeps me sane, which is good for my husband because he has to deal with me on a daily basis).
I never thought I’d go anywhere with being creative. At 18, I was told to find a real job – that in order to pay the bills, I needed to find a substantial career that would keep me stable. At 20, I compromised and went to Cosmetology School in Scottsdale, AZ, to which I graduated a year later in early 2008 (when the economy was failing and the housing market was at an all-time low), and it was hard. The 1600 hours of school, tests and time I took to gain my certificate to do hair wasn’t as much fun as I expected it to be, and I soon realized that my heart wasn’t in the job enough to make a career out of it.
So I got a desk job, a 9-5, Monday through Friday call-center job that paid me well (more than well, actually), allowed me to take vacations, sent me to Baltimore, Boston, Hawaii (yessssssss) and Texas (among other places). I had good healthcare, benefits, you name it … and you know what? I hated it. I felt like what soul I had left was being sucked from my body every time I woke up to go there, and it was even worse when I sat down and had to answer phone call after phone call after phone call (you get the idea). So, while the money was fantastic, and I could go on vacation and do a lot of things I never imagined I couldn’t do … I was miserable. And I hated that feeling.
My husband told me to find a different job. “What do you want to do?” he asked me, “What kind of job do you think you might enjoy?”
Do you know how long it took me to realize the answer to that question? Way too long, it’s almost embarrassing, actually.
When I finally answered him, it wasn’t exactly what he expected. I told him I wanted to write, more specifically, I wanted to write novels – to create eccentric, off-beat, uncharacteristically flawed characters that were imperfect, honest, and real in their own right. And you know what he told me?
“I want you to do what makes you happy.”
I didn’t realize that those words were what I needed to push myself over that ledge – to take that last step into doing something I’ve loved since I was just a kid. Now, at thirty-one years old, I’ll be publishing my third full-length novel in Spring 2018, and I have plans for another one late next year, with another series planned hopefully around that same time.
When I look back at my early twenties, I realize that I gave up on my dream of being an artist and a writer on the simple basis that everyone else told me it wasn’t possible. I’m happy to say it didn’t last long – and for those of you who are still looking for that push – here it is.