“N-E-C-E-S-S-A-R-Y.” My childish voice spelled out the word. “Necessary is our word for today,” my grandmother said. She explained its meaning, and why learning right from wrong was necessary.
The next day my grandfather brought out the colorful, old world globe. “Twirl it,” he said, “and see where your finger lands.” The globe whirled and I stabbed it. “Good one,” my grandfather said. “Czechoslovakia is our word for today.” After a brief history lesson, he taught me to spell it.
My words for the day were never “cat,” “dog,” or “Jane.” This is one of my first memories; I was four or five years old.
My writing career began in elementary school when I wrote plays for recesses and assigned parts to my friends. I always saved the evil queen and witchy roles for me—so much more fun than being the princess.
Along came term papers . . . I always wrote and illustrated them as “story.” If my parents had any idea I was reading about wily queens, sneaky kings, courtesans, and men disemboweled with hot coals—
far above my grade level—those books would have been snatched out of my hands. But my vocabulary expanded as fast as I could open a dictionary. I hold my grandparents responsible for my reading addiction and love affair with words.
I disappointed my family for the first time (but not the last) when I flubbed a state spelling bee. There I was, winning one spelling bee after another—my mother drilling me until the wee hours. Then the big one arrived, and it was down to me and another girl. I made the mistake of looking out at the audience . . . and on the front row was the cutest boy in our school. I was spelling the winning word, one I could spell before first grade, when he caught my eye and I laughed—and said the wrong letter. Believe me, it was a family tragedy. I was never forgiven. The word I missed? Altogether.
When I discovered Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, it became my personal measuring stick for both myself and suitors through the years to come. If they hadn’t read it, and wouldn’t read it or discuss it, they didn’t get a date.
A journalism major at the University of Houston, I also studied fine art and advertising design. Using various painting mediums, I did boudoir-to-pet portraits to help with expenses while attending classes. My fine arts instructor despaired of me: “Your work is too commercial!” Didn’t make me a bit unhappy.
Wearing a jacket with my mini-pencil-skirt, I floated into Young and Rubicam Advertising on four-inch heels. Pretending to be a tad more conservative, I later became vice president of marketing for a real estate development firm, Habitat, Inc., in Houston, Texas. After five years, the corporate suit felt too tight and didn’t fit my expanding entrepreneurial waist. Began my own small graphic design agency and dressed as I pleased.
Moved to California, took additional classes at UCLA, including “acting for the camera” so I could understand the other side of the page; more writing classes for both fiction and non-fiction with various institutions, and seminars with amazing teachers such as Robert McKee and John Truby. Played around with modeling, acting in dinner theatre, and a few television commercials and radio voiceovers; fun but not fulfilling. A short stint with Mattel Electronics reminded me that the corporate suit didn’t fit.
A professional editing class, scads of editing and writing books I actually read—as opposed to them languishing on my shelves—and working with writers and business clients to edit their work came next. I especially liked newsletters, with clients as diverse as the FBI Retired Agents Association to the National Astrology Association, because I could use all my skills—and because they reliably paid the rent.
Along came Apple Macintosh, then the first creative computer programs, then Adobe, and I thought I’d gone to heaven. No more hand-lettering, no more noisy word processors! New horizons: copy and design of over 1500 full page newsprint ads, brochures, you name it, I’m still doing it. I’ve written over 200 produced TV and radio spots, and designed websites.
The exhaust fumes of L.A. finally drove me north. Studied website design at a community college, and have taken numerous courses from American Artists and Writers, Inc. (AWAI) for copywriting and related areas. My quest to write better stories and copy continues: I spent an intense year-plus with the best writing courses for “story” I’ve ever taken—from ScreenwritingU online.
My love affair with both writing and painting (and Photoshop and InDesign) is an ongoing passion. I may suffer from shiny object learning syndrome, but if I do, it’s my grandmother’s fault: “Learn something new every day and you’ll always stay young.” This may not be relevant, but I loved this bit of her advice, too, for staying young: “If you want to stay ageless, never tell anyone how old you are after sixteen. If you do tell them, they will put you into a preconceived slot.”
Research shows she was right. Learning new things every day may not do a lot for wrinkles, but it creates new pathways in one’s brain—essentially keeping it young. I also found her second bit of advice astute.
My wish for myself is to be a wise woman by the time I am gracefully aged—and lively enough to share the knowledge (if anyone wants to hear it!).
Creativity makes me happy—and did I mention the cat on my desk keeping me on schedule?
Edwina