Starting Over

I have always wanted to be a writer.  Cliche, but true.  And I have been published twice.  Once was an essay I wrote for freshman english, a neo feminist essay about ignoring society’s suppression of intelligent women (no wonder I didn’t date), and hundreds of copies were sold.  It was required reading for freshman english, so all students had to buy it.  I think my mom read it, and I guilted Andy Douglas into reading it (as my supportive boyfriend), and Doug Lemke read it because he was in my freshman english working group.  Otherwise, I think besides Marvin (my freshman english professor) that was about the full distribution.  

The second time I had a poem published, sheerly out of pity, I think.  That, or it was a really forward looking marketing plan, because this week I actually got a letter from the U of Az publishing company asking for financial support.  They published my poem in 1986.  That’s just good planning.  The poem is so bad, I am not even going to torture you with it.  Just trust me.

So here’s the thing – no one is offering to publish the reams of notes or letters I write for myself at this point, so I am done waiting.  I am going to just do it myself.  Many of you get my Christmas letters, or my technical audit updates, but there are plenty of other notes and essays stashed around the house, on topics ranging from new shoes I bought to Andra’s inquiries about why I wear makeup or have fur on my fanny (that’s a good one I will save for later).  I am still writing daily letters in my head, and they rumble around all day driving me crazy.  So I am going to keep them here, and you can read them if you want, or just go on with your daily lives.  
 
I will throw in some pictures from time to time, some flashbacks to my “archives”, and I will be happy because I will feel like a writer, and you will be happy because either a) you appreciate my sheer genius, or b) you aren’t being spammed by me anymore.  You pick.

Check in when you feel like it, we will keep the drama flowing.

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