When I was a kid I wanted to be a dinosaur.

I had trouble deciding what I wanted to be when I grew up once I got old enough to understand that being a giant lizard monster might have some drawbacks. (See the T-Rex’s tiny arms)

So I had a lot of ideas. I loved science and animals, I loved music, I loved writing, I loved helping my dad work on cars. The possibilities were endless.

The music thing became a huge dream as my family, teachers, and classmates realized I had a natural talent for it. My vocal range is 5 octaves (on my best days of course haha) and I’ve got a good hand for rhythm guitar. But the musician life def wasn’t for me.

Late nights and smokey bars got old. I love travel and performing, but at my own pace, not this factorized industry garbage, plus, I have never had any intention of playing hooker to sell songs. That’s kind of expected of chicks because it’s an easy sell.

I worked as a veterinary assistant and loved the job. I worked as a travel agent. I am a person who could find happiness doing anything, so I did. I tried on a lot of hats, and then after I got married and had my first baby I had a conversation with a stranger at a festival who was so awed by my take on things that she said I should write about it.

So I did. I submitted a personal essay and it did so well I got fan mail.

A friend of mine also told ma about an opening for writers with the St. Louis Examiner around this time so I applied and the ball just kept rolling.

It’s weird, because although I started in short-form nonfiction, and I sort of fell into the writing profession, once I finally did accept the title, I set my sights on writing books.

I love reading. I’ve always loved books. I got an idea for a children’s book and I wrote it. As soon as I was done I knew it needed to be something.

It’s weird looking back now because as much as the world has changed the message is still the same, respect matters. Respecting others and yourself, your faith, and everyone’s right to their personal freedoms, it is all connected.

But books don’t sell like they did when I had my first release. In just a decade I have witnessed so many changes in the industry, even on the indie scene.

I’m one of the lucky ones, my books do sell, and pretty well considering. I’m no world-class author, but I can hold my own. Even so, my articles are what pay the bills.

Journalism and novel writing are very different beasts, but like everything in life, they are connected. I am reminded of this when I get frustrated with my work, or reactions to it.

All I really want to do is write books, but when you have a family to feed you take as many writing jobs as you can. It can be rough at times. This week has been particularly excruciating. In writing, it comes in waves.

You write and deal with that. Then comes the editing. Then the reaction. And through every stage you doubt yourself, but as you put in the work and hammer it out, you grow more confident so you can stand by it even when it is questioned.

Articles go faster. They’re more stressful and demanding. I was made for it. I like the work, but someday maybe I’ll be able to just sit in a cabin and write books. That would be a nice change of pace right now.

Of course, if I did that, I’d probably miss reporting, so who knows? haha