Beginning to live the dream

I’m happy to announce that I am now a full-time employed writer! Since I was eight (according to my parents), I’ve said I wanted to be a writer. Although being an editor is fine, it just wasn’t what I wanted to do. I’ve been searching for something else for about a year and a half now. Technically, my new title is writer and editor, but at least writer is in there. It’s a step in the right direction (pun a little bit intended). My day-to-day tasks change a good deal because I manage the social media for the publication as well, but mainly I’m writing and editing things. Last week, my very first article went out in the newsletter to several thousand people. It was a big moment.

On top of the regular, full-time job, I’m also doing a fair amount of freelance writing. Currently, it’s all for one client consistently, but it’s better than nothing. At the very least, it’s an exercise in discipline¬†as it’s an additional several thousand words per week. I’ve always been good with outside impending deadlines, so it’s got me writing consistently again.

Then, there’s the church writing group that Marcus got me pulled into. Our church is trying to foster a more devotional atmosphere this year, so we have a team of people writing and publishing weekly devotionals for the church. As of tomorrow, mine will be the first one out there. If you’re interested in reading it, I can send the link your way. This might be the most exciting project for me right now. At first, I was unsure whether I would like writing devotionals or not, but I actually found myself really enjoying it.

Anyway, that’s all I have to share for now. Many of you have seen me through my dark ISG days, so I wanted to give you all a quick update and tell you I escaped alive.


Missy Pearl

Last night, we said goodbye to a dear friend. Missy, my childhood family dog, passed away. It wasn’t unexpected. She was a Great Pyrenees/Weimaraner mix, so her expected life span was anywhere from ten to fifteen. Missy was sixteen as of December 5, 2016. She was a fighter.


Over the last year or so, she began losing her abilities. By the end, my mom and dad were helping her with pretty much everything, except eating. She could usually be persuaded to eat, especially if it was something other than dog food. A couple months ago, my brother said that she would probably never die because she was just too stubborn. That was definitely her style.

I remember when she was a puppy, she could play for hours on end. She would be ready to fall over with exhaustion, but she would keep bringing you a tennis ball or her favorite octopus toy to keep throwing. My mom used to lay on the couch and throw things for her because inevitably Missy would have far more energy than my mom. Another time, she knocked down three dining room chairs while trying to greet someone at the door. Her growth spurt had not really occurred to her yet.


Missy was there for me, in her doggy way, during every hard, sad, or meaningful moment in my life. I’ve laid on the floor with her and cried; I’ve danced in the kitchen for joy while she looked at my nervously. She was truly the best friend I could have asked for.

Losing pets is always difficult. I wouldn’t trade those years with Missy for anything, though.