I wrote four books between 1996 and 2006. Only a few of my closest friends knew about this, how I snatched a few hours to write each night. Those stolen moments were utter joy. For critiques, I traded chapters with a writer from Virginia and another in the UK.

Although I caught an editor’s attention in 2006, my work life and family commitments did not afford the time needed to revise my book as she proposed. And if I’m honest, I didn’t have the writing craft knowledge to pull it off then. So I set it all aside to focus on my analytics job. After all, we had to save enough for our boys to go to college.

In 2015 I got laid off. Anyone who’s had this experience will remember how it shakes you. The shock of it, the uncertainty, the self-doubt. I’d always been a “high performer” so I wondered how come, after the ton of work I’d done, this could happen? Turns out most people who’ve been let go worry about this. It took me two painful days to recover.

Then I began to smile, and do all the things I’d put aside. I played piano. I had lunch with long lost friends. I joined non-profits and filled my life with joy. My kids noticed, saying, “Mom, you look different!”

But I missed the sense of purpose that one derives in a meaningful occupation. When old colleagues began to call, I did project work for a few years as a consultant. However since I traveled frequently to be with my aging parents, it was too much to try holding a full time job.
“When I retire, I’m going back to writing,” I said to my husband one night.
“Why not now?” he asked.

Write? Really write all day, like I had dreamed of? Giving myself permission to experiment with this idea I joined a local writers group, the second smartest decision of my life. (I’ll leave you to guess the smartest one.)

So yes, I’m now a writer. OMG