I’ve never been the ambitious type. Growing up with a severe physical disability (called Arthrogryposis), I learned quickly to accept my lot in life and be happy with what I had–most days, anyway.
This laid-back philosophy, combined with my aversion to schedules, caused me to feel right at home in the college journalism department. I’d been writing for fun all my life, but my desk as Opinions Editor was where I learned to be creative on demand, write poorly/revise later, and meet a deadline. I dropped out just before my senior year to focus on being a new mom, but writing was in my blood. I couldn’t stop. During 3 a.m. nursing sessions, I sat on the floor, babe in my arms, laptop at my toes. (Yes, I type with my toes.)
I typed everything and nothing. Every obscure memory that made my life unique; every hurtful look and awkward conversation and victorious moment. Everything. Fragments, half-thoughts, ramblings, all laid out in a hurry before my newborn started to fuss or drift back to sleep. I wrote about 7,000 words… and then I ran out of steam, in typical Sarah fashion.
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