Hi, I'm Heather....I'm a writer...

So.

Today I did something scary.

I know that a lot of you probably know this but I'll just put it out there for those of you that don't:  I didn't go to college.

I mean, obviously I didn't.  I can't place a comma any better than a kid learning to place shoes around the stake in horseshoes his first day out.  I have no freaking idea what a dangling participle is (other than it sounds slightly suggestive *waggles eyebrows*). 

And if we're being completely honest, it's always been a little bit intimidating to me.

Smart, educated people intimidate the living dogcrap outta me.

But that's my neuroses and not anything any one single person has said or done.  Or at least I don't think they have. 

Either way, I looked into take a continuing education class through the University today in Creative Writing.

It's online, thankfully. 

Why do I say thankfully you might ask...  Well, you know those cute kids in hipster pants that faff about the campus.  Well, yeah, they attend classes now and again and these little buggers have fresh minds and spirits.

Source

Not that my spirit is dampened in any way, shape, or form.

No, that's it.  While they may have their own demons and hells, not all of them have lived the life I have, not all of them have the chip on their shoulder that I do (I'm self-aware enough to know it's there, thank you very much), and they're young. 

They're tiny, they're lovely in their youth and their unencumbered view of life just yet.  They have yet to understand their potential.  They have yet to understand how their spirits can be crushed by life only to rise above their trials or finally succumb to their dread. 

Me?  I'm just the chick in the back who is worried that her eight-year-old might not grasp the idea of reading and processing her thoughts.  Or that her five-year-old might finally get her shizz together literally and get over that final hurdle with getting to the potty on time.  Or that her teenager is such a teen.  Or that her step-daughter is so lovely and she's so proud.  Or that her hubby is out trapping and that he should be careful.  And do we have enough for this and that.  Or do we take enough time with the short people in our lives. 

....that's a two minute span of my thought process.  Exhausting isn't it? 

And I'm scared to death of doing something really really good for myself.

Ridiculous, isn't it? 

I'm not meant to be selfish.  It's not who I am.  I don't operate that way.  I also get a ginormous panic attack when I think about doing something I've never ever done before.  I'm good at playing it off like it's no big deal.  Or if you really really know me....you already know what a big deal it really is. 

I'm not afraid of homework or hard work.  I'm not afraid of learning. 

I'm afraid of taking that step towards the beginnings of a dream of mine.

We all have 'em, don't we?  Whether they be small enough like learning how to make the best cinnamon rolls in the world (another goal of mine) to getting a degree or going to the Writer's Workshop at the University (one of the most highly touted in the States). 

I don't have to hand you a bill of sale of what it would be like for me to be surrounded by people who write.  I'm already there.  I work there.  I watch amazing people save lives and teach on a daily basis.  They inspire me to be a little bit more than I was than the day before. 

And my short folks.  They inspire me, too. 

And every person who has ever said, I love the way you write.  Or has said you should write a book.  Or that I have a gift. 

(For the record:  When you people say that, I get a little thrill.  Just for the record.)

So, I'm going to do this little class.  I'm going to give it a whirl and see where it takes me. 

It's a beginning. 

And after all, it's time.