I don’t remember exactly when I got the idea to write my autobiography, but somewhere along the line I decided that I really just needed to. It’s not like there aren’t some really great books out there written by amazing women who also live with Bipolar Disorder. For some reason I felt like my story deserved to be told, too. So I started.
The latest grad school adventure with be a Master of Fine Arts in Writing. I’m pursuing this in order to be able to see this project through to the end. But it’s not a guarantee I’ll get in, I still have to apply. I have until October 1st to turn in a 30-40 page writing sample.
That kind of scared me, at least until I remembered that somewhere I had started this beast. And then I thought I lost the file. And then the flash drive I thought it was on didn’t have that file but some other (disturbing) crap.
And then, praise dog, I found it. All 74 pages worth.
My task now is to whittle that down to a reasonable length and make sure it all makes sense. Lancelot and K have both offered to proof read for me. Thank dog for friends who don’t judge and can spell.