"The first word of the first sentence is... ten minutes start now." If I close my eyes, I can picture Mr. Mark Smith's junior high journalism classroom as if I'm still sitting in it. Our desks in the center, with our backs to the door. His desk in the left corner, front of the room to us. Desks with computers ringed around the perimeter of the room. And on the shelves... giant stuffed animals, two massive mac-and-cheese boxes, like the promos from grocery stores. A corner full of stuffed animals that you could go grab. It encouraged our creativity, and he encouraged us.
It's not a stretch to claim that I owned journalism in junior high. I submitted six editorials to the Indianapolis Star, all of which were published, including two that were chosen as the 'spotlight' editorial for their Friday Forum. I scored one of very few 100% articles in newspaper class. I wrote for the paper and the yearbook. And most of all, I found a teacher who cared about me and believed in me, and ignited a passion for writing.
Ever since then, people have been trying to throw water on this flame, working to blow it out. From a high school journalism teacher who clearly didn't like me (despite decent grades) and literally turned away from me while I was talking, to just choosing the wrong major in college, to simply not having opportunities anymore, my pen has become rusty.
So, the result is this blog. My ramblings, my musings, my rants and raves. My remembrance and retroactive anger from my fiance's recently-ended second deployment to Afghanistan. My thoughts as a military family member. My wedding planning. My activities in DC. Whatever. I'm a twenty-something, experiencing life and bring you along for all the (mis)adventures.
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