When I grow up...

In Bujold's Vorkosigan series, there's this part in Barrayar where Cordelia finally realizes she has to do something, and she says--"I'm tired of playing wall."

I'm tired of playing wall, of slamming myself up against the bricks, over and over again. I'm getting up in years--okay, maybe not that up, it's a figure of speech--and I can keep doing what I do, or take a chance on something I want to do.

I write.

Over the years I've come to realize that people define themselves by their jobs, "oh, I'm a this," or "oh, I'm a that." I fought the writer label for a long time. People said, "so what do you do?" and I said, "I flip burgers." Which is not really what I do, but it stops questioners dead--like flipping burgers is any less of a job than when I sold books. One is dirty and greasy, and the other is nice and rarefied, but dirty jobs pay more and uniforms are provided. 'sides, people pay to pretend-cook. I get paid, and my chef-coat is real.

I usually get a second job to fund my trip out to WA, but this year I've decided to invest the time back into my writing. I'm not the best writer, nor am I the fastest. And I'll be the first to admit I'm still learning. But my learning curve is incredibly sharp--in other words, me and training...we get along.

I'd like to be an editor.

I want there to be a time when I can stop working and do "writer" things. I want to live in other worlds and go places--even if it's in someone else's head. lol--I want to be Leslie Wainger...

...but I'll settle for Anne Groell. I have an interview Monday. Wish me luck.