Writer

I've wanted to be a writer since I was about twelve. The first short story I wrote was called "Bangle Hills Manor," and it was a horror story.

Well, it was meant to be. I never finished it. Mostly, I started writing it because I thought "Bangle Hills" sounded really cool, and I wanted to describe this ring of hills that sparkled with dew in the mornings, and I liked the idea of a very un-sparkly old house perched on one of the hills like a broken and tarnished watch on a tennis bracelet.

I wasn't quite determined enough to work at it as hard as it had to be worked at, though. I wrote mostly for myself or the amusement of my friends. I never tried to be published, because I've never felt I had anything polished enough to be worth publishing. And also because I don't think I'd be able to avoid taking rejections personally. (I take that back: I had several poems published in my high school literary magazine. Given that I was co-editor-in-chief of the magazine, however, and that we accepted around 90% of submissions, I don't think it counts.)

So now I'm not a professional writer. I'm a QA manager, which involves an awful lot of reading and technical editing, and occasionally some dry Dilbertian writing, and I'm very lucky that my job allows enough slack time for me to occasionally pursue my hobby of writing.

Which makes this all the more amusing:

Yesterday, my boss stuck his head into my office. "I told [manager guy outside our office] that he could borrow you for some proposal help next week, if he needs you."

"Okay." I'm not a big fan of proposal work, but a charge number is a charge number.

He started to walk away and paused, turned around. "If I haven't said it before, you're worth your weight in gold when it comes to technical writing and editing."

That was nice. It's not the kind of writing I enjoy, but it's good to know that I'm good at it.

And this morning, one of our PMs came into my office.

"Hi, Liz."

"Hi, Heather. What's up?" I like Heather. She's smart and funny and nice and has kids close to my kids' ages.

She collapsed in my spare chair and pretended to weep. "I haven't written a paper in twenty years!"

"What are you writing a paper for?"

"This RABIT task. They want... well, it's basically a white paper on how we're going to do it, and the system requirements, and..." She went on for a while about the paper requirements, and ended up with, "...and the draft is due today and I only have five pages and it's crap and can you fix it for me?"

Which was also pretty gratifying, to know I'm the "go-to guy" in my office for good, fast writing/editing.

Which is why I didn't post earlier this morning.