BLOG

The Times They Are.

Next week is my last week as a nanny. I've been with the same family, and the same little girl, for almost seven years. The job has blessed me with love and laughter, sadness and wisdom and, above all else, it has granted me stability. I'd had about four different jobs within a year before stumbling into nannying and I'd allowed my creative pursuits to be buried within the tumultuous job turnover.

My favorite picture of The Boss and I.

My favorite picture of The Boss and I.

Not anymore. With steady wages secured - and employers that have always supported the loftier pursuits that would eventually lead me away from their family - I found my passion as a writer. I rolled up my sleeves and got dirty, wrote some truly terrible books in my quest to find a voice, and through it all, I've grown... As a writer and a future parent. Somewhere in the midst of all that, I found peace in my heart and opened myself up to the biggest surprise yet: a best friend and a wife.  

Life has been good, guarded inside the safety of this particular resume pocket, but now...  I move on.

There was a time when I had hoped to transition cleanly from nannying to Dream Job - art, writing, AUTHOR! - but I'm not quite there. Yet. I could list a hundred reasons why I'm stepping off this ledge without any semblance of a net below, but the underlying reason is simply because it's time for something wonderful and new. Something I know I'm going to be ready for because I've had seven long years to prep. I can feel it in the project I'm working on, I can feel it in the choices I make - like weighing out The Wants (SCBWI Conference - Judy Blume! Bruce Coville! Maggie Stiefvater!) vs. The Needs (today's Writer's Digest Webinar on editing and prepping a book for submission with agent Kate McKean). It's time, Man.

I yam what I yam, and what I yam is ready to go.

Me. 

Me. 

Mick Was NOT Amused.

Mick Fleetwood lives across the street from me. No. Really. He does. He moved into a giant, Fleetwoody mansion across the street from the guest house where I live with my wife. Living in LA, you get used to bumping into celebrities around town, but this one has fascinated me like no other.

Last weekend, I woke to the sound of music. The poolside-speaker variety. I got up and looked out the window, and swore I saw (The) Mick Fleetwood traipse through the bushes. Like Sasquatch, but with a better resume. I watched a little longer before I figured out the music mystery. He was listening to Fleetwood Mac - and not the deep cuts, either. The Hits. I could barely do anything else with my day.

I can't quite put a finger on what it is about him, but the incredible music and longevity is a good place to start. The music he's made has transcended the era they were made in. They're not just oldies, but time-tested goodies, too. Beyond the music there is all the drama. All the different lineups and lovers and feuds. He's a pillar (literally and figuratively) of music history and one can't help but surmise that the man has seen it all. 

So that's where my new art series was born. A place to focus my surprise obsession and awe. A challenge to my skills as an artist (I've never produced a series of bi-weekly material) and a testament to the man and the myth that is my neighbor, Mick Fleetwood.