I have a dream.
I have lots of dreams, actually.
I'd like to be happy with the way I look.
I'd like to own a house someday.
I'd like to have more children.
I'd like to be published.
I love to write. I love putting myself out here in print. It's just something I do. I never realized I was good at it.
I was actually surprised when people commented on my writing...like I said, it's just something I do.
I have stories, words, paragraphs, sentences in my head. All the time.
I have notebooks and journals that I've filled with short stories. Poetry. Comments to myself.
There was a story that kept beating at me until I started to write it down. 52,811 words later, it was a book. An honest to goodness-sending it to a publisher-ready to get rejected book. My book has not been published yet. I don't have high hopes that it will make it, because I know the number of undiscovered masterpieces is unmentionable, and what I wrote--while fantastic--is no masterpiece.
I write other things, too. Earlier this year, I started writing articles for Helium.com. I've written several, but I enjoy reading the articles of others even more. There's a section there called the Marketplace, where publisher post titles of articles they're looking for. Helium writers right the articles, and the publisher picks which one they want.
They picked me.
I got the e-mail earlier this week, and words just could not describe the euphoria I felt.
I'm getting published.
The pay is...well, the pay is $16, and I just can't find a good word to describe that amount...but it's more than I've ever been paid for anything else I've ever written.
The Key Ingredients for Grasping a Second Chance at Life