I wrote my first poem in kindergarten. It was of the “roses are red, violets are blue” variety, but it was advanced for a child my age. That became a theme throughout my school years, when English became my favorite course, and papers, editorials and short-stories became more than grades but part of the curriculum. “You have a gift,” Mr. Marks would say.
My family and school counselors would worry. After all, writers don’t make enough money to live; they’re starving artists and dreamers. I needed to focus my energies on a more stable career, especially since I was growing into family responsibilities that required a serious focus and steady income. “Seek a career, but keep your dreams as your hobby.”
Dreams fade in the ambiguity of a hobby, and careers are often made by accident and not intent. Fifteen years into my “stable” career, I was laid-off for a third time. I spent a year caregiving my mother (who was facing a battle with MRSA acquired during a basic knee replacement surgery) and searching for a new job in my “stable” career…to no avail. My mother passed; so did my hopes for returning to my field. In these dark hours, an old friend was found beneath the rubble and debris of my broken life: words.
Ironically, it was not the pouring out of grief on a page that found me writing again. It was the silly prompts of friends asking me to write FanFiction around their favorite TV characters. It was a distraction. It was healing. It was practice and discipline and revival. It was self-discovery.
I am a writer, artist, sister, friend, caregiver, world traveler and social media nut. My “stable” career is not found in a traditional role, but in the prose of life images and stories to be told. I am me…and I am living the dream.
by G. Anne Bassett 