Jennifer Dawson

Practice makes perfect, or so they say. You know, the great authoritative “They”. People tell me all the time, “Jenn, your writing is great! You have so much imagination.” I smile and nod and thank them. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love to hear my work praised. I was recently published for the first time by a website we have all heard of YAHOO. It was, I believe, one of the greatest moments in my life. And having been married twice and given birth three times; that is saying something. But there is something so satisfying about seeing one’s words in print. It tends to motivate you. Being the person that I am, it wasn’t enough.
I have been writing since I was seven. My first attempt: a story about Rudolph’s nose turning green because he was envious. It was a hit in my second grade classroom. They hung it out in the hall and published it in the school newsletter. My Mom was “tickled pink” and I was HOOKED! I wrote music, I wrote lyrics, I wrote poems, I wrote stories and editorial pieces for the paper. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I went to college and wrote papers. Those papers were turned into professors who asked if my major was journalism, and if it wasn’t why wasn’t I changing it…immediately. I got married, to an exotic man who hailed from the Middle East. He was irresistible; his accent; his mysterious manner; everything about him screamed adventure. He was trouble. He was heartbreak. He was the man every mother prays her son does not become and her daughter does not marry. He was my undoing. He was the father of my two beautiful little girls. And while we were together, I didn’t write. Not one single syllable. I prayed a lot. I cried a lot. I yelled more than I had ever yelled in my life. I threw tantrums and dishes. I wished him dead. I begged him to love me. And then, in a moment of pure clarity, I made him leave. I toiled along for a little while; blindly groping for hope. I took care of our little girls. I juggled his declara