Call of the Wild

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to why I like to write so much.  As I look back, I realize I've been in love with the written word for as long as I can remember.

Being the shy, retiring type I am, I also dreamed of being published. My earliest works are still on display at my parents' house -- from STOP etched into the living room end table to my more stream-of-consciousness ramblings scribbled on the inside of my mother's sewing cabinet.

As I grew, so did my portfolio. Unfortunately many samples from this period have been lost -- most confiscated by intolerant teachers, not recognizing the raw talent right beneath their noses.

During those days, multiple choice tests confounded me. But give me a blue book and a pen, and I could write my way to an A almost every time. Not that my style was always appreciated. Biting sarcasm mixed with a good dose of irreverence didn't go over so well on my essay on Christopher Columbus or the Economics of Third World Countries.

For me, a pivotal moment came when I landed an internship at a local newspaper. A stroke of luck placed me in the advertising department, where my mentor told me, "Just write like you speak."

That cinched the deal. My style was a natural fit for a career in copywriting. I also dabbled in greeting card captions, event marketing and other equally meaningful endeavors. I not-so-secretly dreamed of becoming a comedy writer. Ah, those were the days.

Then came motherhood and everything changed. I no longer had endless hours to ponder self expression, so my hiatus began. Playing peekaboo replaced prose. 

Now eleven years later I've finally found some time to steal away from my crazed existence just long enough to write down a few words here and there. And once again I'm hooked.  I just hope all of you out there enjoy my ramblings half as much as I love writing them.