I sat across the room from my manager. I knew her look of compassion to be sincere, yet that comforted me little when she said, “I’m terminating you.” My mind raced. How could this happen? I worked for this company for almost four years. I moved my family from Anchorage, Alaska, to eastern Washington in January for this company. Now, with no notice or severance package, I’m fired. Wow.

            Her words did not sink in.

            “Should I plan on working tonight?” I asked.

            “No. Let’s make it a clean break, for you and the staff.”

            I had just worked a 12-hour night shift, and despite the adrenaline racing through my veins, I felt tired. Bone tired. I walked to my car, texting my husband on the way, “Just lost my job. Be home soon.”

            What would I do now? Well, duh. Find another job. I like buying groceries. But in this job market? After being terminated from my last position? And it wasn’t even for anything interesting, like selling the office supplies. Nope. Boring me. I was terminated because my manager thought I didn’t have the skills and knowledge for my current position, despite working in this field for 17 years.

            So, what should I do? Find a job? Absolutely. But I don’t know anybody who can job hunt for 40 hours a week. What am I good at? What can I do better than all the other schmoos out there in Need-A-Job Land? This was the question I asked myself after sleeping that same day, after realizing, no need to get up early. I had nowhere to be that night.

                Well, I write. I write stories for children. In fact, since September, 2011, I’ve been writing a middle-grade novel that my critique group tells me is amazing. I think about the characters all the time. When I think of the darkest moment of the novel and how Josey, my main character, saves the day, I cry. Maybe I should finish my book. I’m willing to bet I’m not the first writer who finds herself unemployed and with enough time to finish their book.

            So, that’s what I’m doing. Every day, when my husband leaves the house at 5:45 a.m. to go to work, I make a pot of coffee and park myself right here. This very spot! I don’t leave this chair until I spew 1,000 words onto the page.

             I’m not alone. I have Ruby, the cat, and Eeyore, the basset hound, to keep me company. Today, I’m starting the blog, and I invite you – anonymous reader – to join me on this wild adventure.

             Hands and arms inside the cart, please. Here we go.