As I’ve displayed my Freshly Pressed badge so prominently (to the right, if you hadn’t noticed) I’m sure you’re all aware that My Grandma’s Room was an editor’s pick this week.

Normally, I’d make a self-deprecating joke here, but unlike the majority of my posts, that one was really heartfelt and I’ve been crying all day wishing I could tell my Pop that I Won The Internet, so that he in turn could regale everyone he met with stories of my Writing Prowess, Innate Wisdom, and General Success At Life.  All of these tales would be highly embellished, and neither of us would care.

Instead, I will tell you how I became all Writerly and Such.  It’s an inspiring story, I’m sure. *insert hysterical laughter*

I’ve been a huge reader all my life, and last year I started re-collecting all my childhood favorites, like Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and Nancy Drew.

Much like Anne Shirley, I was a pain in the ass as a child.  I was overly dramatic, I sometimes lied (confession:  It was me that cut the hair off all my Barbie dolls.  I cannot and could not ever play the banjo and I never wrote a song called Eagle.  Also, I’m ashamed that I didn’t come up with a better name for my song which didn’t exist.), I liked to read more than play, and I was bossy as all hell.

I haven’t changed much.

Anyway.  In the third grade I started a newspaper for the kids on my block and sold copies for 5 cents a piece.  It wasn’t a particularly long-running endeavor, mainly because as Head Writer, Editor, Copy Maker, and Boss Lady, I was too good to hawk my own wares on the corner and my friends grew tired of it quickly once they realized they weren’t getting paid.  Nine year olds have no work ethic anymore.  Especially for unpaid labor.

My next brush with fame came in the fifth grade.  On the same day that I opened a package of gum and won ten dollars, I also won 3rd place in a statewide essay contest.  Best. Day. Ever!

I don’t remember what the essay was about, but I do remember that I got to meet Bill Clinton (just the Governor then, not the President, although I’m sure I probably had something to do with his election).

Also, they served really disgusting food at the banquet.

Not too long after that I tried my hand at fiction, penning The Big Black Bucket, which was a story about chickens living on a farm and plotting their escape.

Yeah.  Let that sink in for a minute.

Those Chicken Run assholes.  I wrote it first, dicks.

Fast forward through years of bad poetry, bad decisions, and one too many people saying, rather accusingly, “But you’re so funny on Facebook…” and here I am, reading lots of awesome blogs, writing nonsense, and enjoying myself immensely.  THANK YOU!!

Please stop me if I start referencing tiger blood, in any way, shape, or form.  Thanks, guys.