My husband, Stephen, has started telling people I’m living a writer’s life. The first time he said that in front of me, I said, “Woah! What does that mean?”
Many famous writers were alcoholics or womanizers. Since I’m neither of those things (and first and foremost, I’m not famous!), I really had no idea what he meant.
He described my average week:
Okay, so if that’s what writers do, then I guess, humbly, I must admit that I’m living a writer’s life.
No one is more surprised by all of this than I am. I always hoped I’d write a book “someday.” My early retirement afforded me the time to pursue that. But if you’d told me three years ago that I’d write a *second* book on the tails of the first one getting published – AND have the outline for a third novel brewing—I’d have called you a mean liar. Taunting me like that would’ve been cruel.
But here I am, living a dream life and filled with gratitude for the freedom to pursue this creative path. Stephen and I used to joke that after our “real work years,” we’d be on the “downward slope of who we used to be.” But that’s not true at all. We are envisioning and living alternate realities of our golden years, and why not? I’m not ready for a rocking chair, and I don’t know how to play Bridge, so as long as I’m able, I will continue to write and see where this journey goes.
If you’ve ever wondered “what’s next?” in your own life, I encourage you to follow that little voice inside you. No, not the one that says, “You Can’t.” The other one. The one that says, “Maybe—and what if?”
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"Forks & Knives" was born as part of a long journal entry, a cathartic release. In 2003, despite being happily married to my second husband, insomnia visited me regularly. My brain pushed and pulled, working through hurtful and confusing memories that defined the rocky journey of my first marriage and its ultimate demise. The finished document sat inside my computer, unread, for seventeen years.
When I retired in 2021, I revisited the document, hesitantly. “Is this worth reworking into a novel? Would anyone care about this?” I asked my best friend, my husband Stephen, to read it. Bonus for me: He taught American literature for more than twenty-five years (!), so I knew I could trust his opinion. Happily, he confirmed, “Yes, it’s good. You should work on it.” Then he introduced me to Brian Kaufman (www.authorbriankaufman.com) and Penpointers, the Northern Colorado writer’s group that Stephen had belonged to years before I met him. Over the next year and a half, my self-focused monologue transformed into a work of fiction that would appeal to people outside my immediate circle of friends and family. At least that’s my hope.
Whenever I mention what this book is about, I'm invariably met with, "Yeah, my mom was a drinker," or "My son was sober for a while, but . . ." There are millions of stories like mine out there -- people who have loved/lived with alcoholics/addicts and struggled to hold on through the pain. But there are ways we can help and support those we love without losing ourselves. This novel alone can't help those still working through those dark days, but maybe some of the resources here can play a role.
