I am a writer.
This is not a statement I make lightly. I never even attempted it until a couple years ago, when I’d been writing fiction for a while and had published two short stories. Mind you, I’ve been earning a living primarily by performing research and writing services for other lawyers for twenty years, but since I occasionally showed up in court, I thought of myself as a lawyer rather than a writer. Recently, when describing how I earn my living, someone said, “So you’re a professional writer.” Why, yes. Yes, I am. How nice of you to notice.
In the years before I announced my writership to the world, I worked as a secretary, a jewelry store salesperson, a temporary office worker, an English teacher, a drama coach, an administrative assistant, a paralegal, and a trial lawyer. Sooner or later, though, practically all of these jobs devolved into writing. Sometimes, you just have to recognize your role in this life.
Which is not to say that writing is all I do. I sing with a wonderful chorale. I live with five cats who don’t especially adore cuddling for extended periods (upwards of thirty seconds), but who delight in being the same room with me. I drink more tea than is probably good for me, I don’t use the treadmill desk nearly as often as I say I will, and if I get to choose my last meal, it will involve lobster, champagne, and chocolate. I adore live performances of music and theater although I recognize that in these challenging times, such events are either memory or dream. I firmly believe that in October, New England is the best place in the world. I make lists, and sometimes if I’ve done something that wasn’t on the list, I’ll add it just so I can cross it off. Thanks to the internet, I have dear friends across the U.S. and in other countries, some of whom I’ve never met face to face. My elderly parents and aunt are my biggest fans and supporters. I love museum gift shops. My favorite word is “antimacassar”, with “flense” as a close second.
I trust that’s enough to get us started.