By the time I’d turned 40, I’d worked as a secretary, stockbroker, real estate manager, and clothing store owner. But I never let go of my dream of becoming a writer.
As early as junior high school, I knew my life’s purpose. I wanted to become a writer. However, a teen pregnancy and marriage caused me to drop out of high school in tenth grade.
Predictably, the marriage didn’t last. And I spent the next 15 years recovering my education.
By the time I’d turned 40, I’d worked as a secretary, stockbroker, real estate manager, and clothing store owner. Despite many career accomplishments in these fields, none of these jobs brought me happiness. Yet, as a single parent, I didn’t feel I could enter my profession of choice—one that often fails to provide a living wage. But I never let go of my dream of writing. Over time and at every chance, I recorded my thoughts in journals.
Soon after I’d remarried, the store that my husband and I owned was completely destroyed by a flood. He immediately returned to the banking industry from which he’d previously been laid off. And I was left to choose a new line of employment.
I decided to pursue the career I’d always wanted but had never chanced.
Breaking into newspaper and magazine article writing would not be easy. Though I’d won my first essay contest in eighth grade, I’d failed to take any journalism courses in college. Instead, I’d opted for a BBA degree.
By way of self-study, I read every journalism text book I could find. And when an article or newspaper column appeared particularly well-written, I tore it from its publication and analyzed its structure, paragraph by paragraph, noting good uses of transitional sentences and clever wording.
Feeling unsure of my skill level and talent, I sent my first essay, which was actually a page from my journal, to a small community newspaper. The editor replied she’d be pleased to publish my op/ed—which I had only recently learned meant “opposite editorial.”
Over the next few years, more than 50 guest opinion columns I’d written about everything from social ills to pop culture were published. Many appeared in major newspapers. I even received an assignment from The Washington Post.
Aside from my good fortune in getting into print, something else I didn’t expect happened: Readers wrote and said I’d given them a good chuckle. No matter the subject, and despite my attempts at serious journalism, humor kept creeping into my columns.
I’d never considered myself a comedian, though repeatedly strangers told me that I looked like Carole Burnett or Vicki Lawrence. Could this have been some sort of omen? I’d been a huge fan of the late humorist Erma Bombeck’s work. But for me, writing humor had never been more than a hobby.
My humor blog had more or less evolved as a form of personal therapy. Suddenly I discovered I’d been writing stories that others found therapeutic too. While I’d been using observational humor to work through my own failures, foibles, and frustrations, I’d apparently helped others do the same. Maybe there was something more I was supposed to do with my knack for amusement.
Today, at age 54, I’ve won a national humor writing award and authored two books of humorous essays. My latest book, Deedee Divine’s Totally Skewed Guide to Life, was a 2008 ForeWord Book of the Year finalist.
My story demonstrates that we hold the power to reinvent ourselves every day. Three left turns effectively make a right turn. That’s how life is too. Several wrong turns can still manage to lead us exactly to the right place!