The one thing I loved to do as a child was to write. Not blog, because when I was a child no one owned a computer and there was no such thing as the internet. Back then social media was television and books. I devoured books. I was a bookworm with a capital B. I was the type of person who “got lost” in books for hours on end. No surprise that I started writing.
I wrote pretend novels and even textbooks for school when I was a kid. I wrote a novel (“Vesta: She’ll be her own Self“) that filled an entire kid’s “cahier” (remember those little yellow notebooks from elementary school), drew a picture on the cover and drew a flap on the inside to include an About the Author blurb. And yes it was published. By L. Lahey Publishing Inc. I was 9.
I remember accidentally leaving my bestseller in the kitchen on the counter and my father’s friend Herb commenting “I liked your book Lisa,” very seriously. No one made fun of me. My family was great that way. Throughout my early teens when I kept coming home changing my mind from one month to the next about what I would become or do with my life, they thought it was great. One day I would be a pharmacist. The next a dentist. Then an actress. Then a schizophrenic.
And in 2000 I was published for real by PublishAmerica (which is almost as funny as getting published by L. Lahey Publishing Inc) called “Boy, Crazy“, and in 2005 they published “Millicent Carlisle“. And I earned about $24.00 collectively. I should have framed my cheques. Instead I lost them. Actually I should have framed my advance on commission. I got $1.00. No joke. That’s what PublishAmerica gives its aspiring authors to seal the deal. It was my proudest publishing moment.
My brother, Lyle Lump (not his real name), was a very good hockey player from the time he was about 8 or 9. He was so good that he was drafted onto a tournament team and got up at 6:00 a.m. five days a week before school to go to practice and was at away games almost every weekend. To this day he is a major fan of NHL hockey and for years he played pick-me-up hockey with his friends. If it’s hockey, he is there.
A man my father knew took a year’s sabbatical from his work to get his Ph.D. Guess what he studied? Zero. No, not nothing. He studied the number zero. Seriously He’d always been obsessed with numbers since he was a kid. And he got a doctorate for it.
A former sister of mine (no she’s not a trans male – I just don’t talk to her anymore) was good at nothing. And she still is. She doesn’t make any money from it either. But that’s understandable.
The point is who cares if you get paid for doing something you love? As long as you have a living outside of it, then do it. Do what you love in this life or your life will suck. And “we may only go around just one time as far as I can tell.” So live it well.