I’ve always loved reading and writing—at least from elementary school. Perhaps earlier.
As a youngster, I had a very active daydream life. I made up stories, and then I acted in them—when I was supposed to be sleeping. It was also during this time that I developed my love of public speaking.
In fact, my undergrad degree is in Theatre Arts, and my MA is in Teaching English as a Second (or Foreign) Language (TESL or TEFL).
I wrote all through school and thought I was good at it. Unfortunately, I didn’t consider it a viable career. Frankly, teaching didn’t look so good either back in 1972 when I got my degree. I worked in Silicon Valley, California, starting out as a personal assistant and ending as a product line manager. All in all, a wonderful career.
Through this entire period, I took English classes: literature, writing and linguistics, thinking I’d switch to teaching one day. That day came after a layoff in 2001 when, to my surprise, teaching looked much more promising than electronics.
How I love teaching! I felt–at least at first–that teaching ESL was what I was born to do. When I think about teaching, I think about acting (e.g., acting out a story to preview it), writing (Lesson Plans and Reports), and of course, reading—more than that—teaching students to read in a foreign language. Also reading lots of books to preview and purchase them. What a great—if low-paid—career. What a pleasure foreign students are: “Thank you, Miss Candy,” many say at the end of each class.
I also wrote and submitted essays and short stories. Once in a while I’d get published, but if I received a rejection, I stopped writing for long periods of time. It took me forever to get back to the page, even when I received an encouraging rejection letter.
Now I’m semi-retired in Mexico, volunteer teaching EFL part-time at a library set up and funded by a gringo group. It’s very important to me to give back to the community—the loving, friendly, accepting, helpful Mexicans who surround me. I love them.
As overly sensitive as I was about “rejection,” what do you think happened when I had more time to do write? Exactly. I didn’t; I couldn’t. At least not much. I maintained blog that no one read, which was fine with me. Or so I told myself.
Then came National Novel Writing Month 2019—just last year. I learned many things, one of which was the writing sprint. That got me through my block—even after November ended.
What also helped me believe that I could write and publish—even if I would probably self-publish—are vlogs and blogs about writing. The vlogs can be very personal, and I really enjoy them; my favorites are from non-famous writers out of my genre. What can I say? They speak to me, and I’m grateful.
Yes, we’re in 2020, I’m almost 72, and I’m really just beginning to be serious about my writing. I know it gives new meaning to late bloomer, but it makes me very, very happy.