When I was eleven years old, out riding my bike, I pulled into a yard sale on the spur of the moment. Among all the things there, the one that intrigued me the most was an enormous Underwood manual typewriter. I bought it for five dollars and spent the better part of the day balancing it on my bicycle's banana seat as I walked this forty pound metal monster many miles back to my house. (In those days, kids could and did ride their bikes anywhere and everywhere.)
I did all of this because I had discovered that year that I was a writer and also because I found that my hand couldn't write fast enough to keep up with all the stories that were bubbling out of me. I made it home, cleaned that Underwood, and convinced my mother to take me to the office supply store for fresh new ribbons, then I was off and running (and driving everyone in my house to distraction with the clatter of my keys).
Over the last thirty odd years I've been a fry cook, a tuxedo salesman, a student, a janitor, a telemarketer, a graduate student, an advertising copy editor, a book reviewer, a graduate student (again), a copywriter then creative director, an adjunct faculty member, and a communications director. I've lived in West Virginia, Ohio, and Colorado and traveled to Canada, Mexico, Cuba, England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, Spain, and India.
And down through all those years, across all those zip codes and time zones, while wearing all those different job hats, I've never stopped being that eleven year old hurrying to get somewhere to tell a story. I'm excited to be working for the College of Communication & Information doing just that. If you catch up with me some time, maybe I'll tell you how I got those original Underwood typed stories back from the police -- it's a good story.