I mentioned to my blind friend Nan, whom I help with typing and submissions in her writing and poetry career, that this pandemic was an opportunity for her to write about maintaining her independence without family.
We typed the piece last night, and in the quickest acceptance/publication sequence ever, The Mighty had it posted within 8 hours.
Read it here:
My mother taught me never to stand still. She wanted to teach me that I should always make my bed and I should never leave the house without doing all the dishes, but I failed in those lessons.
I spent much of my twenties doing exactly what I thought I was supposed to do: I embarked on a career, I bought a new car, I rented an apartment, I got married, I paid off my student loans.
In my thirties, my husband and I focused most of our energy on our daughter. My career as a journalist became more precarious. I went to work part-time as I earned a second bachelor’s in International Affairs.
By my late thirties, I started traveling with a friend. I realized maybe I didn’t want a traditional professional occupation, but I couldn’t label what I did want.
Now I’ve crossed 40. I am working on a master’s degree in world history at West Chester University. I’ve had a few small acceptances with some of my creative writing. I’m contemplating pursuing more paid freelance writing work.
And I also might take a semester off from my master’s work. My daughter is nearing 13 and I never realized how much she’d need me now.
These are the thoughts I was thinking this morning as I held my office hours as a graduate assistant in West Chester’s history department. I stumbled upon one new publication that may be a good fit for me as a journalist wanting to return to the trade and some of my more alternative leanings.
And while I sit quietly, alone, in this office, I ask what will I do with myself this winter with no schoolwork and only my tedious retail job? And I realize this time will be introspective and hopefully give me more stillness so that my true desires come into focus.
While I ponder these thoughts, which are not easy thoughts, I receive an email.
“Thank you for your revisions.” “We’ll contact you with a publication date.”
An essay I submitted to an online literary magazine a few weeks ago seems as if it has accepted my piece. The piece is about weather, Djibouti and broken bones. It’s a quirky publication too so this may be a sign…
I must keep writing.
My life is usually funny. When things go wrong, they don’t go average wrong. They go Charlie Chaplin style wrong. I did an entry on my writing blog about this tendency of my life because my friends are always pushing me to be the Erma Bombeck of my age. And I do love the classic Erma!
Here’s a newspaper clipping about my daughter that I think falls under humor.
One of my first humor pieces on motherhood
Angel Ackerman 