The Eighth Day...

...a day you realized what you wanted to do/be

I know you guys are gonna laugh at me...but, when I was about 7 or 8, my mom asked me what I wanted to be. I told her a..................................................................................................................................clown. LOL

I didn't REALLY want to be a clown, but I loved McDonald's and I loved Ronald. I might've been craving some Mickey D's...I don't know. lol

The truth is...when I was younger I used to want to be a counselor. Perhaps even at 12, it seemed my job was to listen to my friends' problems. "What kinda problems can a 12yr old have?" you ask.

"My mother hates me..."

"I can't stand my siblings!!"

"Why doesn't he like me?"

Yea...seems small, but in a tween's world...that's everything. I love being there for my friends and figuring out ways to cheer them up. I wanted to do that because it never dawned on me to take my writing and build on it.

Writing was such second nature mechanics to me. It was like air, eating, taking showers...I wrote everything down and in detail. Journals, letters, and sketched stories were the ways I expressed myself. I could articulate how hurt I was, how angry I was...far better with a letter than an actual conversation. Poetry and even song lyrics began to fill my notebooks and I never once thought of doing it for a living....

I did consider teaching. I loved bringing knowledge to people. It was like offering water in a bottomless goblet of enrichment. I would take my small (not pocket) dictionary everywhere. It was riddled with lines. Squiggly red, blue, green, circles. My favorite things were color coded. Everything one color...flowers, the Greek alphabet, names for fairies, states, and synonyms for everyday words...all beautifully highlighted. My ex saw my dictionary one day and said, "Wow, baby...I've never seen anyone treat a dictionary like a regular book the way you do..."

Still, I found all kinds of interests. Did I want to be a fashion designer? I drew all of the time and often played with the idea of style. Did I want to be a gemologist? I loved jewelry and stones. Did I want to be a chef? I love to cook and could totally cater. Did I want to sing? NO. I CAN sing...my ass off, even...but that was never my dream. Too shy for stage displays.

Finally, right before settling into what I KNOW...writing...I had a temporary yen to be an event planner. I wanted to plan weddings and everything fabulous! My sister and I had even recruited a friend to be a partner for a short time in what we called "Pretty Pleased". We researched, held bi-weekly meetings and did group assignments to acclimate ourselves to the world of planning on a budget. That fell through and left me listless for a bit.

...then I wrote my book. "Twisted Heart". What began as a way to stay occupied during the day, morphed into a full-on novel of the suspense-drama-thriller kind. I started that book one day back in 2005 and now here I am...8 years later...and still clutching to it like an overprotective mother.

I'll release her soon...she needs to be set free. Even if only for the sensation of having let go. I have also embraced my art in another way through Fancy Face Kreations...both art and writing have always held core spaces in my soul...it was only a matter of time before they bubbled up and introduced themselves. lol