I was a secret writer. I squirreled away at home tapping away on my laptop writing silly stories and not telling a soul. A colleague was going away to get an MFA in Creative Writing. I was there to eat the cake and toast the toasts but did I open my squeaky little mouth and say "you know, I write, too."? No. I did not.
When my book deal was announced and I told friends and family, people were shocked. "You write?""How did you do that?" I shrugged my shoulders and mumbled things like, "it just kind of happened" and "there were all these 5 am mornings."
But besides my partner, there was one person who knew. My friend, Katrina. You see, we'd gone to an art teacher conference together and on the way home we had confessional time. What hadn't we done yet? What did we want to accomplish with the second half of our lives? She talked about professional greatness and PhD's, I talked about writing. We made an agreement to send each other postcards with our intentions once we returned home.
She gave mine back to me when I announced my book deal: (she never did send me a postcard, but she is currently in the PhD program of her dreams!)
If you look closely, the date is January 2009. It took 3 1/2 years from that postcard to the sale of my first book, but in that time I joined SCBWI and Twitter. I found a writing class near my hometown specifically for middle grade and young adult fiction. I grew. I learned. But mostly when people asked me what I did, I said I was a teacher but that I also wrote. Some folks heard me, some didn't. But none of that mattered. What mattered was I had heard myself.
So if you want to name your intentions, send me a postcard. PO Box 133, Micaville, NC 28755. I'll send it back when they come true.