MetaWriting

Talked to Bedford Minuteman Press about a job yesterday, and left it that I would come in with an answer on Monday on whether or not I was interested, and Bill would come up with what he could pay me as an independent contractor. 

As I told Bill, I needed to talk to my husband, about our future before I could make a commitment.  So, Rick and I talked for a couple of hours during breaks from the Mav’s playoff game.  I’ve learned, over the years, to work around team and TV timeouts during sporting events… .  So, after much discussion, punctuated by some really depressing play by the Mavericks, the gist from my husband was, “Do what you choose, but I’d love to see you pursue your dream of becoming a published writer.”

Have I said how much I love that man?  While I didn’t need permission, per se, knowing that he’s completely in my corner as I commit to the writing game is incredibly important.  He’s the reason I was able to do more than just go back to school, I was able to graduate in three and a half years, summa cum laude.  His amazing support is the reason I’ve been able to excel at every successful venture I’ve ever undertaken, including my gastric bypass.

The next couple of years are going to be SO much fun… !

That loud sighing sound you’re hearing is me, over here in my little corner of the world, taking a deep breath for the first time in ages… ahhhhhhhh.  The black circles under my eyes are disappearing, I’m starting to relax.  Not completely–I’m still keeping a close eye on our finances, but as long as we don’t do anything stupid, we’ll be just fine.  And, if the good Lord’s willing, and I get this proposal out the door in good order and get a bite, then we’ll do even better.  But I’ve got time.  Time to relax and finally live my life.  Sure, I’d like to have more money–but at what cost? 

Oh, and the itch?  Prickly heat, from having my bathing suit on too long… Been living in the darn thing, with all this 100-degree weather going on.  This too, shall pass in its own time.

No, I’m not climbing down off the writing horse, I’m dismounting the highly-paid professional nag for a while, and going to give this writing thing a real shot.

I’m in the middle of a non-fiction book proposal for a funny, irreverent look at my gastric bypass surgery.  I don’t think I’m just a one-note wonder, either–there are a lot of other areas I’m interested in, from writing a piece on comparative religions for the vaguely interested to writing a book on dealing with abuse in later life.  From the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

The world is full of possibilities from here–and I’m going to grab every one I can.  Being fired may just be the best thing that ever happened to me, as long as I use it for fuel for my writing fire.  My aim?  I want to be sitting on Oprah’s couch a year from now touting my new book, and saying to my recent ex-boss through the camera, “So, how do you like me now?”

Oh, and I don’t say this often enough–but thank God for my husband, Rick.  If he weren’t here, fully behind every move I make, I wouldn’t stand a chance.