Once Upon a Time

Ever since the “Straw”, “Camel”, “Back”, “Broke” Incident of 2012 (That’s what I’m calling it now.  I take my entertainment where I can get it.), I’ve been pondering exactly how I’m going to reinvent my career.

Do I go back to school to train in something?

Probably not.  I’m too frugal to take out a loan to pay for the education and I’m too lazy to spend the time it would take to get that education.  (Hey.  At least I’m honest.  I know what my failings are.)

Do I go all postal at the office?

No.  I would not look good in an orange jumpsuit.  And I hate being told what to do.  I’m pretty sure prison guards and wardens are all up in the inmates’ business, being all bossy-britches-like.

Do I hire a recruiter or career counselor?

Maybe.  I’m still pondering that one.

Do I ask God for guidance?

Definitely.  He’s got a good track record with answers.

I don’t usually talk about my relationship with God.  Much like my relationship with my guy, I consider that to be my private business and not fodder for the internet.

But, when it comes to that lost, stolen feeling I have, defined as “what should I be doing for a living?”, God is my go-to source.

For a long, long time, God and I didn’t talk.  I figured He had better things to do than listen to me whine and complain.  And I didn’t see Him making miracles in my life, so I figured we weren’t on speaking terms.  However, a few years ago, I had a little epiphany and realized maybe the miracle-making was something I was supposed to have a hand in (you know, actually do some work instead of kicking back, acting entitled).  Overnight, God and I made up and we’ve been going strong ever since.

Naturally, when I reached this crisis point, I brought it up in our nightly conversations.  God’s a good friend, listening and delivering the occasional swift kick to the rear that wakes me up to what’s staring me in the face.

He reminded me to write.  He reminded me of the importance writing carries in my life.  He reminded me I will never know if I could be published if I don’t try.

Then He said, “I don’t think it’s novels for you to write.  I think that’s why you’ve struggled.  I think it’s books for children.  For the little ones.  The ones around Big G’s age: pre-school, kindergarten, first and second grade.  I think that’s where your talents lie.  In stories of two to three to five thousand words.  Let me show you.”

And pop.  Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.  Ideas for children’s books began exploding in my head.  Titles.  Plot lines.  Character names.  Morals.  Lessons.  Education.  Silliness.  Fairy tales.

I will still need a day job.  This current one, or something else. I’ll keep working on figuring that out.  In the meantime, I’ll research the children’s book market.

Maybe I’ll get published and can write for a living, effectively resolving the day job question.

Maybe I won’t.

I’m not sure it matters either way.  All I know is God pointed me in a direction I’m excited to go.  And the first step I took at His suggestion, to read a fairy tale I wrote over 20 years ago to my niece and her friend was a resounding success.

Who wouldn’t be excited when two almost 5-year-old girls tell you: “It was really good.  We liked it, Aunt Hil.”

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