Not long ago, I overheard my husband and son discussing my son’s request for a watch.
“Daddy,” he said. “I’m getting bigger now. I’m ten years old! I think it’s time I had a watch.”
Of course the eventual promise of a timepiece is not the end of the story, it’s merely the beginning–at least for me. Because my son then announced, “Hey, maybe this can be Mommy’s next article. About me wanting a watch.”
Shortly before the watch incident, I had experienced a momentous occasion in my life: my publishing debut. An essay I wrote appeared in a national paper.
Before that, I had been thinking about “being a writer” for some time. I worked in Development at a major University, where I wrote a lot. Of course, grant proposals and requests for funding don’t often make the Pulitzer shortlist, so I never considered myself a “real writer.” The newspaper submission was my first attempt to write something people might actually want to read. Read more at Literary Mama