A journey into me

By now, if you have been a reader of mine for any length of time, you know that I wrote my first book last year and published it on Amazon (under my real name-sorry) on January 2nd of this year.  The point of writing that book was to see if I actually had the guts to put my writing, which I had always kept a big secret, out into the world to be loved or hated, and to hopefully be read.  It was never about becoming rich or famous or the next bestselling author.  It was simply a personal challenge to climb out of my comfort zone.  Clicking “publish” on Amazon was incredibly liberating for me as a writer.
After publishing my first book I immediately starting thinking about the next book.  My brain had a different idea though.  It shut down for a while.  It took a siesta, a vacation.  It was worn out from the 7 month marathon that I had just put it through with the first book that it said, “no more writing for a long while, please.”  I have written some poems, and a couple of short stories, too, but nothing of novel-worthiness.
Then a few months ago it hit me . . . Another novel wouldn’t be a personal challenge.  I already know I can do that.  A personal challenge would be publishing my poems and short stories, the stuff that is actually pulled from my real life.  I wanted to see if I could not just share my imagination with the world, but also share Me with the world.  My poems and short stores, and even this blog, are essentially the pages of my journal.
Now you may be asking yourself, “But, Carrie, where’s the personal challenge in publishing those poems and short stories on Amazon if you can publish them here on your blog.”  It’s simple really.  Right here, right now I am completely anonymous.  You have no idea who I am aside from what you’ve read.  You already know my real name isn’t Carrie, and none of my friends or family read or even know about “A Tale Of A T-Rex.”  It’s easy to appear bold when nobody knows you are doing it.  But in truth I am hiding behind this blog.
So, my goal for book number two . . . To bring my truthful and honestwriting, the same stuff I write here, to the people who actually know me.
For a while I considered not doing it because I didn’t want to offend anyone who might recognize a piece as being about them.
Then tonight I realized something . . . Why should I censor myself to protect people who probably won’t even read the book anyway?  And what kind of writer would I be if I censored my personal writings just to protect those who may have inspired that particular piece?
Although if there are any specific names in a piece they will bechanged or edited to protect the “innocent”, so they don’t get all butt hurt.  This book is not about hurting anyone or getting back at anyone.  This book is about putting Me, all of me, out there into the world.  As a writer if I can’t put all of me out into the world then I may as well throw away my ink pens and tear up all of my paper because what is the point?
So I’m going to do it.  I’m going to take the chance.  My poems, shortstories, and other writings based on my “adventures” . . . a journey not into my imagination, but instead a journey into me.
Until next time . . .

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Breaking the writer’s rules

once upon

I consider myself a writer.  It’s what I love to do.  It’s what I am good at.  I have been known to be sitting in a bar, doctor’s office, or in my car at a stoplight and have to break out the pad of paper because an idea just struck.  I’ve even been known to text poems to myself because I didn’t have a pad of paper to write it down.  If you consider yourself a writer also then you know exactly what I mean.  You never know when “THE BEST IDEA” will come to you.  When it does, though, everything else comes to a grinding halt until you can get the words out of your head.

I follow a several writing blogs, “like” a couple of different writing-related Facebook pages, and they all say, “make sure you write everyday.  Write, write, write every single day!!!!”  As a writer you are supposed to write, then write some more, write when you want to, and even write when you don’t want to, write when you have lots to say, and write when you have absolutely nothing to say.  I understand why you want to always be writing everyday . . . you have to keep that muscle worked out to stave off atrophy.  For some people to lose the ability to write would be to lose their most prominent voice.  Some people, myself included, just don’t know how to speak any other way than through their ink pen (which is ironic if you remember that I am a radio d.j.).

better-writer

But what about those days when you just really have absolutely nothing to write about?  Nothing inspired you.  Nothing stood out to spark your creativity.  You didn’t see anything that made you think, “that would make a great poem or short story.”

We’ve all, at some point or another, suffered from that evil demon known as writers block.  Any writer who says they have never had writers block is a liar.  Do not believe them.  I firmly believe that one can not call themselves a writer until they have fallen into the jaws of writers block and climbed back out.  The longest it lasted for me was 6 1/2 years.  I didn’t write a single poem, short story . . . nothing.

I don’t know if I just had nothing to say, or if I lost faith in my ability to get the words out.  I do know that I considered throwing out all of my notebooks, because they were just a taunting reminder of that part of me that had gone dormant.  Then one day the machine turned back on and in the 2 1/2 years since then I have written more than I ever did before the writer’s block.

I don’t write everyday.  I don’t always have something to say.  For all the times that inspiration has hit me like a ton of bricks there have been more days where the inspirational well is dry.  Yet I still consider myself a writer.

It’s been on my mind a lot lately that maybe I can’t call myself a writer because I don’t write everyday.  I don’t have a special area set aside just for writing.  I don’t devote hours of each and every day to my craft.  I don’t write to entertain or inform others, but instead I do it to empty myself of things that fill me up . . . joy, sadness, heartbreak, love, uncertainty . . .

Do you consider yourself a writer?

Why do you write?

I have an overflowing 3-ring purple binder at home that is full of all the poems and short stories that I have written since I was 14 years old.  It is the physical version of my heart and soul, and isn’t that what writing is about?  When you write aren’t you supposed to bear your heart and soul to the reader?  After all, how can the reader truly know how you want them to feel if you hold yourself back when writing that poem, short story, novel, or even that blog post.

I may not follow the “rules” when it comes to writing.  I don’t write everyday.  I don’t write, then write some more, then keep writing more after that.  I write until my overflowing cup is empty, and then that piece finds its way into my purple 3-ring binder.

Rowling

I write.  I write when I am inspired.  I write when my cup runneth over.  I pour myself out through my ink pen or computer keyboard.  I sit down and leave a part of myself on display on the paper in front of me.  I give myself to the reader to be judged.  Isn’t that what writing is all about?

So I ask again, are you a writer?

It’s official! I’ve been plagiarized!

You, dear reader, may be someone like me.  You may be the one person in your group of friends that always has a pad of paper with you or the note feature on your smartphone open.  Your friends who don’t understand think you are writing yourself notes . . . Perhaps a shopping list, a drycleaning reminder, or a pending appointment.  Those that do understand you and I know that when an idea pops into our head for a poem, short story, or blog post then we have to write it down RIGHT NOW lest we forget it.  Let’ face it, there is nothing worse than a forgotten BRILLIANT writing project idea.  We’ve all had them.  Why does this happen to us?  Because we are writers.
Many of us are writer-slash-some-other-career.  In my case I am a writer/radio d.j.  But at what point can we officially add “writer” to our job title?  I’ve seen many arguments over this matter.  “You can’t say you’re a writer until you’ve been paid for your writing.”  “If all you want to do is write then you are a writer.”
By now you have probably read any one of my posts about the (terrible) book that I wrote and published on Amazon.  I can call it terrible because I wrote it, and aren’t we always the harshest critics of our own writing.  People have purchased the book, so technically I have been paid for my writing, but I’ve considered myself a writer since I was 14 years old when I wrote my first poem.
When I was a child I always had a very fanciful imagination.  I could make up stories at the drop of a hat.  An account of my school day wasn’t just a rundown of classwork and the lunch menu.  There was drama, recreated conversations . . . It was a living story.  I’ve always been a writer.
2 years ago I wrote a poem and published it on familyfriendpoems.com.  I am very proud of that poem.  It is one of my most favorite pieces that I have ever written.  Today, for some reason, I googled my poem and discovered that it has been shared all over the internet.  That made me so happy.  People have shared it in blogs, on message boards, even as a comment on a YouTube video.  I found a young lady right here on WordPress that is using a line from my poem as a quote on her blog.  The one that touched me the most was a young man, school-aged (from the style of his writing he was maybe 6th or 7th grade-my assumption only), that had come across my poem and he wrote that it moved him and reminded him that no matter what God is always with us.  My poem had a positive impact on that boy.  I almost cried.
I knew when I wrote that poem that I wasn’t meant to hide it like I do so many of my other poems.  God wanted me to share it, and that young man was proof as to why.
As I continued through my ego-stroking Google search of my poem I came across a woman who had republished my poem, which is not generally a big deal.  But she did it without giving me author credit.  That IS a big deal.  AND she put her own name on it as the author.  That is an EVEN bigger deal.  Is the P-word coming to anyone else’s mind?  Yes, the much-feared and oft-loathed word . . . PLAGIARISM.  (Cue the ominous and dramatic music.)
I sent the woman a message politely asking her to do one of 2 things:  either add my name to her post as author of the poem, OR remove the post.  I did not hear back from the woman and the post has not been altered.  I reported her to the website she reposted my poem on for copyright infringement and included a link to my poem (which shows my name as author, and shows the copyright right next to my name).
I love that people enjoy my poem, and it makes me very happy to know that my poem has touched the lives of many readers.  It makes me even more happy that those readers want to share my poem with other readers.  Like I said, this poem was not meant to be hidden.  God wanted it to be shared, otherwise he would not have put it into my heart to publish it in the first place (something I had NEVER done previously).  But no matter what the work is about, no matter how unknown the author, no matter where the work was found, stealing credit from the original author is still plagiarism.
So, let’s run down the writer checklist:
All I want to do is write . . . Check.
I’ve always got a pad of paper with me . . . Check.
I’ve been published (on 2 websites and in a book) . . . Check.
I’ve been paid for my writing . . . Check.
I’ve had writing project requisitioned . . . Check.
Sounds like I might be able to call myself a writer.
Oh, wait, I’ve been plagiarised . . . Check.
Yep, NOW it is official.  I am now a real actual writer.
Best wishes to all of you aspiring plagiarism victims.  Ha!
Until next time . . .

A bad review

I know I am not the world’s most amazing writer.  I have no delusions of taking the best-seller lists by storm or putting Stephen King out of a job.  I do take pride in my writing though.  Writing is my way to purge myself of pain and heartbreak.  It is my way to praise and celebrate.  My poems and short stories are pieces of me.  They are my heart and soul bared under a microscope for all the world to see.  If you read any of my writings I may as well be standing naked in front of you.  Some of my writing is deeply personal and very difficult to share, whereas other pieces I can not share fast enough.

Then there was the piece that was a challenge to myself, a dare if you will.  It was an adventure with no road map.  It was conception, pregnancy and labor and all the fears that go along with it.

Last summer I set a goal for myself to write a whole book . . . chapters, plot twists, character development, the whole bit.  I did it to see if I could undertake a project of that size and then follow through with it.  I wanted to find out if I had the courage to put such a huge part of my myself out into the world.  I wanted to find out how far out of my comfort zone I could step.  I wanted to know if my imagination, which generally produces emotion-filled poetry, could write a book . . . a whole BOOK!  EEK!!!!

I wrote the entire book by hand.  It took two purple 3-subject spiral notebooks.  I bought a cheap laptop off of Craigslist.  When my creative juices would run low I would type the handwritten portions and work on editing.  I discovered that I love revising, but I absolutely loath editing.  I spent a lot of time in front of my laptop with my headphones on, listening to Kenny Wayne Shepherd while checking for misspellings and errant commas.  Bluesy guitar riffs are very calming when a self-imposed publishing deadline is looming ever closer.

I wrote the first words of my book while sitting in my studio at work on June 10, 2013.  I published it on Amazon on January 2, 2014.

Is my book literary greatness?  Not at all.  It is still riddled with mistakes that could have been alleviated by another run through of the fine-toothed editing comb.  My book is filled with imperfections, but it is my book.  I set a goal for myself and saw it through to the end.  It was an amazing learning experience for me.  It was such a roller coaster adventure.  All of the up’s of “I can do this!  I will write a book.  The words are coming faster than I can get them down on paper.”  And then the other side of the coin . . . the down’s.  “I can’t finish this book.  This was a stupid idea.  Nobody will want to read this giant turd.  Everyone will hate it!”  It was the greatest roller coaster I have ever ridden and I can’t wait to take that ride again.

I cried when it went live on Amazon.  I was official!  I was a published author.  I had accomplished my goal.  That was what the entire adventure had been about.  Writing that book had been my Mt. Everest climb.  It was crossing the finish line at the end of a marathon.  It was my Olympics.  It was proof to myself that I had the courage and faith to get past my insecurity and fear and open myself up to the whole entire world.  It was empowering.  It was liberating.  The only moment that was better was the day I gave birth to my son.

So when I read my first bad review today my initial reaction was to get angry and offended.  After all, the reviewer admitted to basing their opinion of my book strictly on the fact that they had only read the first couple of pages.  I am sure though that when Da Vinci debuted the Mona Lisa not everyone liked it.  When the Taj Mahal was unveiled there were probably people who thought it was hideous.

An artist can not please everyone.  Sometimes that can’t even please anyone.  Art and imagination are subjective.  You see what you want to see in any given piece of art, including written pieces . . . even this blog post.  I see what I want to see, even if I am looking (or reading) at the exact same thing as you.

In the cast of my book . . . it is my baby.  I love it and all of its imperfections.  I dreamed it up.  I grew it.  I nurtured it.  I stressed over it, laughed with it, cried over it.  I raised it from the first idea of, “I should write a book,” to the day I clicked “publish” on Amazon and sent it out into the world.  I am proud of what I accomplished.  I created a book where once there had been none.  I made my mark, no matter how small, on the literary world.  Nobody can ever take that from me, not even all the bad reviews in the world.

That reviewer may have thought my book sucked, but as least I took the risk.  I set a goal and followed through with it even when the road was scary and it would have been easy to quit.

My writing is not the best in the world, but I write for me.  I write to purge myself of all the things inside of me.  If you happen to enjoy my writings then that is fantastic and I thank you.  I don’t write for reviews or to be the next world-renowned author.  I write because I can.  I publish because I can.  God gave me a gift to tell a story and took away my fear of sharing those stories with you.  So if I could tell that reviewer that didn’t like my book one thing I would say . . . I am working on book number 2 right now.

Until next time . . .

A New Page (poem)

You were an addiction
You were a phase
You were a detour
In my life’s race
We shared a laugh
And a common interest in you
But when I needed you to step up
You were too afraid to move
I gave you almost all of me
To you I was an open book
But your selfishness kept you blinded
Beyond your world you couldn’t look
You used me to build you up
On my foundation of sand
But when my foundation washed away
You never offered a helping hand
You turned your back and walked away
I was no longer of any use
Our one-sided friendship thrown back in my face
As I was cast away from you
I tried to open your door
That you keep shut so tight
But your selfish anger keeps it locked
As you hide behind your fright
You were an addiction
A weakness, a phase
You were a chapter
But I’ve turned a new page
 
By:  Carrie Leigh
04.09.14

The Last Next (poem)

Until you look for the next
You’ll never realize last was last
Moments are fleeting
Time flies by too fast
What we hold onto so hard
What we give our all
Can disappear so quickly
Like summer flowers in the fall
What we think we can’t live without
Means nothing when it’s gone
Our heart keeps beating, we wake, we sleep
Life continues on
Assuming tomorrow will be a next
Only to discover yesterday was last
Burn bright, fade from life
Hold tight, let go fast
Look back tomorrow
See what has gone
Know sometimes there is no next
And the last will stand alone
The last will hold the memory
The unspoken, unknown goodbye
The last will keep its secret quiet
Of a next it forever denies
 
By:  Carrie Leigh
04.09.14

Finding your passion in life

What are you passionate about? Have you ever really given it any thought? What is the one think in this great big world that makes your heart race, that gives you peace and happiness, that makes you tick, that completes you, that makes you who you are? What is the one thing in the world that if you were to lose it would be like a part of you died?

Now don’t say that you are passionate about your friends and family. Those are things that we are all passionate about. But everyone has at least one thing that really defines who we are . . . that one thing that we are ceaselessly passionate about. I will use a few of my friends as examples . . .

My male best friend . . . radio d.j. . . . comics and superheroes
My female best friend . . . business manager . . . law enforcement and helping church
Former co-worker . . . radio station engineer . . . making music
Former co-worker . . . organizer of beauty supply shows . . . animal rescue

What we do for our career does not define who we are. Our career is merely what we do to pay the bills. What defines who we really are is what we are passionate about.

Me . . . radio d.j. . . . writing

I saw a post on Facebook recently that said “find your passion and let it consume you.” Take a moment to think about that. When was the last time you fell in love with something so much that you let it consume you?

There are unfortunately too many people walking around the world right now that have no idea what they are passionate about. They are so worried about having the right job, fitting into the right social circles, and always being perfect that they never take a chance at finding what really makes them happy. To find your passion is to find what makes your heart happy.

Rescuing abused and neglected animals and finding them furr-ever homes makes my beauty show organizer friend happy. That is what fulfills her heart. Overcoming the demons of his very ugly childhood via the comic superheroes he loves is what makes my best friend happy. Writing poetry, short stories, even the posts on this blog are what makes me happy.

Many people are lucky enough to discover what they are passionate about. For those people it could even become their purpose in life. My beauty show friend would love to be able to give up her job and devote herself day and night to rescuing animals. But with the free time that she gets from work she has done amazing, life changing things for so many animals. She has found her passion and she has let it consume her.

What are you passionate about? Do you even know? If you could drop everything right now to do the one thing that makes you happy what would it be?

So, what are you waiting for?  Find your passion and let it consume you.

Until next time . . .

Being taught

It’s glorious and oh-so-amazing to take a moment, look back and see all the little ways God has worked in your life. Whether it is something small or something to turned out to be huge God is always there working on you and working for you.

I have always been under the belief that we should always keep learning. There is always something new to learn about and to help us broaden our view our view of the world . . . how to make beaded jewelry, the history of your hometown, the names of and stories behind the constellations in the sky . . . anything. We should never pass up an opportunity to learn. As long as we wake up to another day we have a fresh opportunity to be taught more about the world that God created for us.

Lately I’ve been thinking about going back to school. The thought has been floating around in my head for several months. I didn’t know if I wanted to take anything specific like a writing class to improve what I already know and love, or if I wanted to try something completely new like archaeology or automotive repair. In my indecisiveness God gave me my answer. I believe he is the one who implanted the desire to go back to school. But where I have found myself recently is not your average school setting. There are no desks, no chalkboard, no lunchtime or recess. But I am definitely back in school, and I couldn’t be happier with the setting that God led me to.

God led me to the greatest school I could ask for. God led me to church.

My eyes and heart have been awakened to the wonderful creation that is God’s world around us. In the past several weeks I have learned more through Sunday morning services, study guides, and even posts right here on WordPress from other followers of Christ than I have in my entire life. I have truly been sent back to school. God knew that I was open to be taught. He knew I was ready to find him. He directed every aspect of my life so that everything led me to him.

Do I still have questions? Absolutely. Will I someday know all there is to know about God’s work in us and in this world, about the work that Jesus did on earth before he was sacrificed for us? I hope not. I pray that God keeps my mind open, my thirst for knowledge about him unquenched.

To wake up to another day in this world is a blessing. To be given another day to continue to learn about my creator and the son he sacrificed so that you and I could have eternity with him is beyond a blessing.

Until next time . . .

Blessings

Sometimes it’s difficult to see the way God acts in our own lives. Between the rush to get to work in the morning, the boss who can be a total jerk, long lines at the grocery store, getting housework done and dinner on the table, and helping the kids with their homework it’s very easy to lose sight of the way God blesses our day-to-day lives.

Rushing to get to work and the jerk boss = you have a job when so many others do not.

Long grocery store lines = you have money to put food on your table when too many others don’t know where their next meal is coming from.

Housework = you have a home when too many in this world are sleeping on the streets.

Helping the kids with their homework = quality time with your family when so many are alone in this world.

God’s blessings surround every aspect of our lives everyday whether you realize it or not.

Sunday morning in church the Spirit of God was so strong that everybody could feel him. Voices were raised in musical worship as we sang to him. Arms were uplifted. Smiles adorned lifted faces and tears rolled from eyes as God acted in each of our hearts. It was a beautiful moment. God was in the hearts of everyone there. It was truly a moment of praise and worship. At the end of the service five people made their fresh start and accepted Jesus Christ as their savior. Seeing that happen will never get old to me. I joked with a friend that I am going to have to quit wearing mascara to church because I can’t make it through a service without being moved to tears. The sight of a new believer coming to Christ . . . there are no words for the way the joy fills my heart.

That moment on Sunday morning was a tangible moment of God acting in our lives. We could feel him there. But those moments when you are harried and rushed to get out the door, when you a fighting traffic and your jerk boss, when you impatiently waiting in line at the grocery store, or on hold for a customer service representative . . . take a moment to think of the way God has blessed you and your life.

On Friday nights I go to bed hoping that my son will sleep past 7a.m. on Saturday and thus let me sleep past 7a.m. Every Saturday morning at 7a.m. there he is on my side of the bed asking if he can play with my phone and letting me know that he is going downstairs to watch Spongebob in the living room. Every once in a while he will climb in bed between me and my husband and let us cuddle him (he’s generally not a cuddly kid, he likes his space). I love those moments when he lets me wrap my arms around him, lean my head against his, and enjoy the few moments of cuddly time. I love to kiss his cheeks and smell his hair. I look at him and say, “I like Nathan cuddles.” His response, “I like mommy cuddles.” Then I say, “They make me happy.” He responds with, “They make me happy.” That is our cuddly routine. It never lasts more than a few minutes but in those few minutes I know that I am blessed. God saw fit to give that beautiful little boy to me and my husband. He trusted us to raise Nathan to be not our son but the son of God.

An early morning whisper of “mommy” from Nathan, a giggle from the living room as he watches Spongebob, a random hug, to see him come running down the steps to welcome me home after work, late night milkshakes, him helping me cook dinner . . . it’s the little things . . . God has blessed me.

My family is not a rich family. As a matter of fact, there are some months when we struggle to meet all the bills. But somehow we always make it through. What my family has plenty of though has far more value than money. It’s something that we were losing before I made my fresh start, before I opened my heart and life to Jesus Christ . . . we have love, we have quality time together, we are rebuilding our bond as a family. That is something that a price can never be put on.

I could buy all the Happy Meals in the world for Nathan and send my husband to all the wrestling events that he could ever want to go to, but nothing will mean more than the time we get to spend together.

I used to take the little moments for granted. I am a workaholic. From the moment that I got my first job at seventeen years old I started putting work before family and everything else. I was unhappy in my own home, unhappy with my husband, and with my family. I used work to try escape what was making me unhappy. I didn’t realize thought that what was making me unhappy was me. I was trying to escape from what I thought was making me unhappy, but you can never escape from yourself. That was a lesson that I learned and could not deny when God held a mirror up to my face. I was tearing apart my family. I was throwing away the blessing that God gave me.

No more!

On those days when I think God has it out for me (you know we all have those days sometimes) I remember that God has blessed and those rough days are making me stronger. Those rough days make me appreciate all the wonderful things in my life that much more.

How has God blessed you?

Until next time . . .

Ready for change

I remember when I first got into radio . . . I was in love with it.  My dreams were big and the future seemed wide open.  I was going to take the radio world by storm and be the next Dick Clark or Kasey Kasem.  In the studio I felt at home for the first time ever.  I had found my calling.

Now, 14 years later, my “calling” has come to feel like a chore.  It’s something I have to do instead of something I get to do.  I would be perfectly happy right now to hang up my headphones and let my on-air name die quietly.  It’s not that I am unhappy with the station that I work for.  It’s that radio no longer means to me what it meant 14 years ago.  Some people might call it burnout.  Some would say that I’ve gotten jaded or disillusioned.  I would say that my priorities have changed.

14 years ago I was a sheltered, naive girl who was searching for acceptance within herself and from everyone around her.  I’ve since found acceptance from myself and I think I’m pretty amazing.  I am perky, loud, giggly, loving, devoted, and creative.  I am unique.  I am my own person.  I totally rock!  I am also impatient, short-tempered, foul-mouthed, and insecure.  I am human.

People are always growing and changing.  We’re not meant to stay the same.  If we did stay the same then I would still be in love with New Kids On The Block and be living in my mom or dad’s basement.  I’ve grown and changed since the first time I opened a microphone 14 years ago.  I no longer have stars in my eyes and no longer seek the acceptance of others.  If somebody likes me then I am happy with that.  If somebody hates me then that is their choice and their right.  I can’t change it.

For the most part I am a pretty private person.  There are just some aspects of myself that others do no need to know about.  My boss recently told me that I need to open myself up more to my listeners.  What I want to open up about with them I can not because the company doesn’t want to alienate listeners.  I love and work in the Bible belt.  How can being open about my faith alienate listeners?  Yet talking up a song about drinking or murdering cheating spouses is completely okey dokey.  I can’t say “praise God” on the air, but Carrie Underwood can sing about a wife and mistress murdering their shared man.  I am in the wrong forum apparently.  There is no wrong way to share the word of God.  I just need to find a new, more accepting outlet for those words.

It’s time to leave radio.  It’s time to step back from the 100,000-watt-powered machine of requests and cheap giveaways.  It’s time to walk away from the over-inflated, self-indulgent ego of the female morning show host.  It’s time to say goodbye to the general manager that, no matter what he gives lip-service to, wants the station to come first and foremost in everybody’s life.

Radio was my life, but it means nothing to me anymore.

But where do I go from here?

I used to be terrified of change.  A childhood filled with chaos and constant upheaval left me as an adult searching for stability and control, even if that meant I was left in an unhappy situation.  The only thing that mattered to me was stability, predictability.  God is working in me and in my life.  I no longer fear change.  I am excited about it.  I look forward to where God will lead me.

I am ready to leave radio behind, but everything happens in His time.  He will lead me away from the microphone and into the next chapter in my life when His time is right.

I can’t wait to see what God has planned for me.

Until next time . . .