Here’s who I am…

Although I attended four high schools: Ferndale, Michigan—seven months, Palo Alto, California—four months; Birmingham Michigan—two years; and San Mateo, California—three months, I’m a high school drop out.

Before I was twenty-four, I had moved twenty-one times. Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s all food for the laptop.

I’ve had two husbands—both named John (which prevents confusion). The first one was nice, the second one’s a keeper. I have a daughter, a son, two stepdaughters, six grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, and two sons-in-law.

In grade school I wanted to be an architect, a justification for chopping up cardboard boxes. In high school I wanted to be an illustrator, or a writer, or a painter, or a wife and mom.

After I was a wife and mom, I also wanted to be smart, so I took night classes and spent several hundred credit hours at Oakland Community College, Wayne State University and The College For Creative Studies. I was good at writing and good at art (my teachers said so). I wrote newspaper articles and a children’s book that were published. And two novels and ten children’s books that weren’t.

Once I had a job as an editor, but I wanted to be in the art department, so I became a graphic designer. I did that for a long time—years and years and years (decades). I loved the work and handled the stress. Then I got breast cancer, decided life might be short, and started painting full time. There were art galleries, and art shows, and art fairs. When I got tired of doing that, I went back to writing. This time around: novels and memoirs.

And that’s what I’m doing now. For two weeks in the summer I write in an old trailer at John’s family farm in Wisconsin. The rest of the time I write in Michigan, where I can see the Detroit Zoo water tower from my window.

Lynn Arbor—Writer

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November is National Novel Writing Month. Figuring I’d be confined to quarters for some of the month, because of the dratted nose cancer being removed on November 1st, I signed up for NaNoWriMo.

I’ve committed myself to writing the first draft of a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. Thousands of writers around the world take part in this craziness. You’re allowed to work out the plot and characters before the start of this month. I didn’t do anything.

So now it’s November 3rd. I’m already 5,000 words behind. And I don’t even have a story in mind.

Excuses. Excuses.

Wednesday, November 1st was the starting date, and I was having a hunk of my nose cut off. I was lucky. After just one layer they had clear margins. Dr. Byrd got all the cancer. He drew on my nose with purple marker, then cut a flap this way, a flap that way, and third flap still another way. Afterward Nurse Monica trained me on the ins, outs, and overs of changing the dressing and bandaging my face.

[caption id="attachment_2099" align="alignright" width="180"] That caterpillar climbing my nose is good. Cancer's GONE.[/caption]

Thursday, November 2nd, I sat on John’s recliner all day, and stared at the TV. I couldn’t read anything. My left eye was too swollen to see, or maybe it was the clumsy lumpy bandage I put on my nose that was blinding me.

Friday, November 3, wonder of wonders, today I can see my laptop—I didn’t go so crazy with the bandages this morning. I can type. I can think. As ugly as my face looks, it doesn’t hurt.

So I’d best get at it. Quick. Quick. What’s the story? Who’s the main character? When is this story taking place. Who, what, where, when, why, and how?

Help! What’s the story!




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