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How once woman went from being a SAHM of four to a published freelance science journalist |
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I'm revising this intro after more than 15 years to better reflect my intention When I started this blog in 2004, I was a stay at home mom to two small children, a college graduate with a degree in English and Astrophysics. By 2007, I had four small children, ages newborn, 2, 4, and 6. For several years, Writing.com was how I kept my sanity. This blog began, first as a way of staying connected. Later, when I worked on a novel, I used it to stoke the writing fires as I plotted out short stories and the next step of my novel. Ultimately, I moved my writing preparation to "Invalid Item"  In 2010, I became a single mom who had homeschooled her children for several years. I had a 2, 4, 6 and 8 year old and had never had a "real" full time job, since I was married while in college. Everyone told me that I would have to buckle down and take on a "real" job. Instead, I decided to attempt to live my dream: to make it as a writer. I knew that if I didn't try then, I would never really dive in. I counted my money and set a deadline. If I hadn't began making a decent (defined) amount of money after so many months, I would suck it up and get a J-O-B. After some thought, I decided to play to my strengths. I served an internship at Sky & Telescope magazine while in college and enjoyed writing about space and astronomy. With an astrophysics degree, I thought I would be able to sell myself more easily, and a small niche should be easier to penetrate. It's been about ten years since I was first paid for an article on Space.com. In that time, writing - journalism - has been my primary moneymaker. I've often thought about setting up a blog on my website - www.astrowriter.com - but just haven't gotten around to it. There are a few things I would like to share for those who are interested in scientific journalism in general. Now that I'm back on WDC, there's no reason not to combine the two and use the site blog for that sort of interaction. There are certainly plenty of folks on this site interested in the publication process. So while I'll probably meander around some, that's the intention of of this blog: to share some of my struggles as a published journalist and to help answer oft-asked questions. |
| Well, it's my birthday, another year older, another year grayer. Actually, that's not completely true - after a scare last year where I found a single strand of gray in my hair a few weeks after turning 40, I have yet to find another. So just another year older! When my children were little - and sometimes even now - I would crawl into bed with them the morning of their birthday and tell them their birth story. Now I mostly do this with my girls because my boys are too manly to cuddle, or whatever. Earlier this week, I suggested to my oldest that they should learn my birth story and reciprocate. Instead, they called my mom, then walked in singing "happy birthday" with my mom joining on the phone. They made me breakfast in bed - cinnamon rolls and coke, mmm, so healthy! - and then my mom told my story. I'm going to slightly deviate from the prompt and re-tell it the way she remembers it, because, well, it's my birthday!! ;) I was supposed to be born in Virginia. My dad was sent to Georgia for basic training, having just joined the army. (According to my dad, and probably true, he joined the army because he wanted full time work and health insurance. Since I spent most of my childhood with him pointedly telling me that the only reason he stayed with UPS, his after-Army job, for 20 years was so that my sister and I could have health insurance, I believe him. But I digress.) My dad was assigned to the 82nd Airborne, and so he was wrapping up jump school at Ft. Benning. After passing his test or certification or whathaveyou, he proceeded to sprain his ankle on the last jump. As a result, he was kept at Benning instead of being passed on to Virginia. At the same time - and this information is new to me - apparently the military doctors had no idea when my due date was. When she first went to the doctor in Virginia, they gave her a due date of mid-to late May. At Benning, they used the size of the fetus to estimate my age, so they kept pushing back the due date because I was so small. When I was born, my doctor-official due date was August! !!! My mom woke up because her water broke. "At first I thought I wet the bed," she said, "but nope, it was my water." Awkward! They didn't have a landline, much less a cell phone, so my dad got in the car and drove up the road to the nearest payphone, where he called the hospital to let them know we were coming and called his work to let them know he would be late. I question the logic here, as I suspect the hospital had payphones he could have called from, but that's my dad. When he got home - my mom had made him breakfast. I didn't ask for a menu because I was flummexed. He said, "Shouldn't we go to the hospital?' and she said, "We should eat first." Besides, first babies take a long time, everyone knows. (I broke in here and went, But your water broke!! You're supposed to head to the hospital at that point.) Anyway, they eventually drove to the hospital and she spent some time walking the halls and then I was born! The doctors were concerned that I was premature because, after all, I wasn't due until August. But my mom said I had fingernails that were longer than hers are today and she thought they were nuts. They still put me in a little ICU thing for safety sake but apparently they finally realized I was a normal baby. To be clear, I was a whopping six pound baby. My sister wasn't much larger, as I recall. All of my parents stuff from the baby showers was in Virginia, so I spent my first few days home sleeping in a dresser drawer. My mom swears they never pushed it into the dresser while I was in it! Eventually we drove to Virginia, I suspect without a carseat because, 1979. Now, what do I remember? Nothing! Darkness! Memories are funny things. I have a lot of memories that my parents don't seem to have. I remember that we once had two dogs named Kermit and Miss Piggy. We were at the mall with the dogs in the car, and Kermit got out and was gone. Later, Miss Piggy got hit by a car. My parents swear we never had these dogs, but my sister also remembers them. Given that my dad literally forgot that he was at my (Catholic infant) baptism, I trust his memory very little, but I'm surprised my mom doesn't remember. I also have a memory of being at the hospital with my dad. All that I really remember is that he bought me a Payday candy bar, which I really like, and that we sat outside in a little park area. According to my parents memories, I was only at the hospital once (other than birth) during childhood. That was visiting my mom when my sister was born. Apparently my mom was really sad and missed me and was crying, and they wouldn't let me come visit her. So my dad brought me to stand outside her window so she could see me. This is all well and good, but my sister was born December 1980, making us 18 months apart. So apparently I remember something from before I was two. I guess it was a good candy bar. I don't remember my sister at all (which I suppose makes sense since I didn't get to see her.) My kids are here now and we're going to go hang out and eat lunch and whatnot. I hope you all have a good Mother's Day weekend. |
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