So, somewhere during either one of my Qualitative Research classes, or before finishing a Seagram’s 7-7 at the local blues pub, I decided to drop out of my PhD cohort. Oh, I still wanted to publish, all right. The word count wasn’t even a reason, I LOVE writing…just not a thesis…. with a review board and a dissertation chair…
I wanted to publish and be read at the BIG bookstores….and the INDEPENDENT bookstores…. and at YOUR house, and MY neighbor’s house, and the LOCAL coffee shop….I wanted it all.
So, before the ice melted in that drink, I had decided to close off the part of my brain storing how to clinically observe, and I let the part that observes the story begin to write…
This blog is where I go when I need to stretch in a different direction. It may at some point contain a scrap I’m actually writing…but probably not much, since the current advice from agents and publishers is that they don’t want freebie versions of our work floating around on the Internet.
I get that. Thanks for reading.
This is my attempt to journal, blog, and reflect. My opinions are mine alone, and unless cited as such should be presumed to be only my opinions. I do not mean to accidentally, or purposefully implicate any entity or person with the contents of this blog. Although examples from my life have been included, the details have been adjusted to shield the identity of persons involved. Fictional accounts are listed as well for the purpose of example.
This is a reflective, and personal journey.
This blog WAS used at the beginning of my quest for a PhD in Educational Leadership, but I had started it on a whim 3 years earlier. It is not intended to be anything more than a personal blog. It will on occasion contain whatever I am working on at the time. Right now, it’s a novel named ‘Some Kind of Hero’…(a working title, not a forever title… )
Once upon a time, in a kingdom ever so near, a mommish-formerly magical princess started a blog. The princess had grown older and had taken on the responsibilities of a definitely UN-magical quality, laundry and vacuuming and such. But every now and again a simple reminder of the Formerly Magical Days (FMD) would make her stop her ironing or dish-washing or even the mid-day commute home; and she would smile.