It has occurred to me that life is like writing, particularly the foreshadowing. I suppose that I am not the first to see this. “Life imitates art,” wasn’t a Julie original after all.
So, here’s what I’m thinking. I think that I have been a writer for about a year. In truth, there were clues. I remember entering a story contest in 5th grade and winning. In 7th grade, I wrote silly plays using all my friends as the players. No one ever acted them out, but they were tattered from being passed throughout the school. In my brooding teen years, I preferred poetry which I continued to write all through college. Then, it was in college that I realized that I liked to read, not just for information, but for fun, sometimes for sport. A professor would make a reference to a book, kids would laugh, I wrote it down and headed to the library to get it.I wanted to be in on the jokes. I wanted to understand. So, I read tons of American and British literature during those years. I also found that I loved writing papers and always received accolades. I love a good pat on the back, so I kept writing. After college, I started a prayer journal. I journal now for posterity , for record, for my kids. I entered a short story to a magazine once a few years ago. It was rejected, but why would I do that? What possessed me? I started a book early in my first pregnancy because the way that I found out was so humorous to me. So, I said all of that to say, unbeknownst to me, I was a writer long before I managed to put two and two together. Foreboding is not limited to literature. The writing was on my wall well before I stopped to read it.

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