Here's a Quarter.

I really like to write. It's always been fun to play with words and try to make them sound just right, but now I have a venue in which to do it. I love this blog. It's a little gift to me. When I was in fifth grade, I wrote a modern day version of Little Red Riding Hood which I, the nerd of all fifth grade nerds, titled Little Pink Punky Hood. It got a lot of press, that fairy tale. In my version, Punky had a purple boombox on her shoulder and neon clothing. (mid 80's) She used words like "yo" and "dude" to address the wolf. I suspect she also had mall bangs, but I cannot confirm that. So, ever since that little yarn got quasi-published in a local young author's magazine, I've been hooked. I've always been drawn to newpaper work and any opportunity to write a letter or express myself. Basically, I'm mouthy on paper. I think it all goes back to my mom's child-rearing techniques.

I tend to talk a good bit, but I tend to complain a whole lot more. I love to complain! I love to critique! I love to analyze and argue! I am aware that I have a problem. My mom's sarcastic solution to my many grievances was one sentence long. One sentence that she uttered anytime I started griping about something in her presence. It was very simple. She would roll her eyes and say, "Go write a letter." This was her version of my dad's slogan, "Here's a quarter." (Call someone who cares.) I was clearly raised in an environment which strongly supported my need to write. Where would I be if I hadn't had such strong advocates for my literary development behind me? I'm certain that they had my growth in mind at all times.

So from those moments on, I wrote all the time. I kept diaries (hilarious now) and journals (I still read mine from fifth grade to my class and laugh). I wrote diligently for the Trojan Times newspaper in middle school. (don't laugh, that was our mascot.) I didn't write for the newspaper in high school for obvious reasons: it would have interfered with my ability to take driver's ed in school. I picked it up straight away in college and even became editor of my college newspaper. That was my crowning glory when I got a little 5 X 8 space every week to write whatever I wanted. Loved. It. A couple of English professors courted me to major in English, but I had higher standards than that. I couldn't major in English or work in journalism because, obviously, they hardly made any money. So I became a teacher. The irony. And I majored in psychology, which I loved, but if I didn't get a masters or a PhD, then I was very limited in my career opportunities. So there I was - teaching!

I swore I would never be a teacher. Virtually every woman in my family is a teacher or some semblance of one. I wanted to be different. I tried every major that my college offered. I tried really hard to like math. And German. And biology. As a result, I have a very unique transcript. While dabbling in psychology, I accidentally took a course called Educational Psychology. It involved field work in elementary schools. I sneered. I rolled my eyes. Then I went. And darn if I didn't love it! I was flabbergasted and reluctantly picked me up an elementary education degree to go with my psychology.

So here I am, teaching writing! It all went full circle. I wound up getting paid to do what I love anyway; I write all day and get paid a simply ginormous salary to do it. There's even a TAKS test for me to show how great my kids are at writing. Coming up on Tuesday, that test. Which is the reason I haven't had much to post all week. TGIF. Well, TGIS. I had to get a good night's sleep first. Bygones. The point of this ramble was that I heart my blog. It's some bizarro form of therapy, I think. And it makes me happy. So there. :o)