i've always fancied myself as a writer. when i was young, i could often be found at the family computer typing out all kinds of stories and imaginary tales, scenes, and character profiles. ideas would come to me in the middle of the night and i'd nearly burst if i didn't transfer the ideas to paper. my fingers could rarely type as quickly as my brain could spew but we managed. my stories never went very far and eventually the middle-of-the-night ideas dissipated. i'd dabble in the written word here and there but never really did anything of it. then i discovered amid my love for writing was a truer and deeper love for grammar, punctuation, and words--not so much as a compiled piece telling a story but rather as words and commas and contractions and more expressive words. i unearthed my love for editing.
still not thinking of it as anything more than a hobby, i set it aside and continued down my creative path--putting to paper ideas of scenes and characters, stolen moments, sorrow, and even a few resume redesigns and poster print layouts for my day job. eventually, i came to a fork in my personal and professional development. one direction led to the same old life. it was fine but a tad stagnant. i wanted more. i craved more. i surveyed the other and it promised to drop me down my very own rabbit hole. exhilarated by the notion of turning my true love into a life work, i ran as fast as i could and jumped into the rabbit hole. and here i am, falling, reaching out to grab dictionaries and the chicago manual of style from the floating bookshelves--turning pages while free-falling is a trick--taking notes, reviewing the syllabus, studying the modules, and writing.
today is my first day of class in the editing course with the berkeley extension. i can't tell you how excited i am.
