I no longer work for Francesca's Collections. Possibly the only thing I truly miss about that place is the discount I received on the clothes, which, to be honest, wasn't much of a discount to begin with. Wait, wait -- I miss everyone that got fired without any cause, and those of us who quit as fast as we could without breaking down the doors. Francesca's did, however, teach me the leadership skills necessary to take a step back and evaluate a situation for what it really is, so I suppose I have my old-young boss and her modeleqsue minion to thank for that. And I have also developed a strong sense of self-preservation, and therefore no longer stand idle in the face of passive-aggressive female warfare. So, thank you, Francesca's.
I no longer live in Atlanta. This has been the biggest change thus far, probably because I moved out of my parent's nest at the tender age of 23. I honestly thought I'd be snuggled under their wings until I was married, but now, living on my own almost nine-hundred miles away, I feel pretty content with the independence I've acquired. Why, how, and when I moved aren't as necessarily important (to me) because I'm here now, and all I can do is pick up the adventure from this point. Still, my dream is to be living in some tiny, cold apartment in the middle of the fashion district in New York City, scraping together pennies while flipping through the pages of my next novel. The world of a struggling author compels me to look in the mirror of life and ask, "What next?" And speaking of struggling authors...
I published my first book of poetry. "The Ivories." That's right, I said I was going to do it, and I did it. Not on my own, of course, all I actually did was write the book. My publisher did everything else. It's an eBook, not yet sold in stores, and it's available on the top 3 online publishing markets:
Right. So there you have it, my little bit of undiscovered treasure. I am so excited to see the growth of this book, as I literally put my entire life between its pages. Currently, I am scrounging for publishers because my next dream is to have this book on actual bookshelves. Sometimes the feel of a book in your hand makes the words that much more palpable as well. But for now, that book is me, naked, laying on my back, and asking you to tell me what you see. Or perhaps it's you without the noise, only the prose. The Ivories.
Last only because it is always in the corner of my mind, I lost one of the dearest people in my life to cancer. My mother's twin, my Aunt Pam, died in February on the anniversary of the day she received Christ as her Savior back in 1999. I wrote a letter to her the day before she left, and I read it at her funeral without shedding one tear. In fact, I never cried the entire time we knew her health was failing. At least not from my eyes. I cried for months on paper, and sometimes I still cry, but my heart is always pleased to know she is having the time of her life in a world we only dream of. So here's to you, Aunt Pam, always and forever one step ahead of the rest of us.
I'm on the hunt for a reasonably priced electronic tablet or laptop or new-age type-writer of some sort, so that I can continue writing without as much of a hiatus. I love a good desktop, but you can't take them everywhere with you on your worldly adventures, and I have quite a few worldly adventures on a daily basis. So hopefully I find one, because I forget that my fingers remember my love of writing more than my willpower does. In any case, new things are coming, old things have passed away, and all things are just as they should be.
Til next time,
Syd
