My writing career had a most inauspicious start. I was sitting in a Bible study class and we were challenged to write a short story to contemporize a 5000 year old tale. I let the words take over and wrote what everyone else considered to be the best rewrite of scripture they'd ever heard. Bit by bit people started asking me to write presentations and speeches, stories and lessons, but not for pay. I didn't care. It was a paradigm-shifting experience to have people applaud my words.
Soon, my first spouse was offered a transfer. As we were getting ready to move from my supportive friends, I had a waking dream. As I rested from organizing the packing, I heard a voice say "Dead at 36." I was 33 at the time and thought that disembodied pronouncement was aimed at me.
I jumped up (and this is absolutely true) and ran downstairs to spend the next four days writing over 100 pages of a novel. I stopped only to change diapers, feed my three small children and clean house. Okay, so I really wrote in between all the important things in my life.
We moved, and all I could think about was that my longing to write had been stirred. I volunteered to write publicity for the school, the local volunteer center and my new church. I was producing four or five articles, plus photos for the local weekly paper before the editor offered to hire me on a freelance basis. That first check was sweet, if small, and I knew I could never let go of my desire to write.
Fast forward through a divorce (my first didn't feel the same way about writing as I did) and a never-ending attempt to do the mature thing and get a "real" job. I resumed freelancing but kept looking for that 9 to 5 gig that would make me feel grown up, if miserably stifled.
Have you noticed how people who want to write on a freelance basis are rarely the greatest employees? Well, I have. I was always jumping up with innovative ideas and wild ways to solve problems. Except nobody wanted to hear them. My frustration would lead to a job search, and the cycle would begin…again.
One summer, as my current and final husband and I sat on our small boat in the middle of a still lake, watching our three children alternately dipping toes in the water, floating on an inflatable raft and just plain swimming, we agreed that it was time to look at freelance writing again. (Actually I never got on the boat without notebook and pen, so in some sense I'd never let go of that dream). Since that time I've built two websites and writer ezines, plus sold articles to local, regional and national publications. I've sold a great gob of short stories, been a part of several anthologies, and taught hundreds of writing students. I write and annually revise my business plan for marketing my business, and myself.
At the same time I've chaperoned school trips, babysat for other parents, gone to countless parent teacher conferences, drove children and their friends to dance classes, sports camps, movies, sleepovers and school dances, and I've been home during school breaks and summer vacations. It's not always easy. For instance, I'm writing this at 2 a.m. after a long day of removing wallpaper in my son's room, taking a cat to the vet, cooking two meals, and manhandling four loads of laundry. Tomorrow morning I'll be up by 6 a.m. trying to read some more, review students' assignments and put together an ezine. It's the best job I've ever had!
I can think of no more exciting journey than one that takes us, as parents, into the world of writing, and beyond. Unless it is the path that takes us as writers into the world of parenting.
Blessings on us during this journey,
Pamela White
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