I'm Joann. Welcome! I'm really happy you're here. I'll scoot over. Have a seat and we'll chat.
I've got a husband that I've had since the olden days, meaning the days before *gasp* the internet! We've stayed together thanks to our irreverent, collective 12-yr-old boy sense of humor. Wine is also a big contributor to our blissful marriage. There's also the fact that he knows I'll be a cloud of dust if Bono ever shows up at my door to whisk me away. He's cool with that.
I have three beautiful daughters who are all in their dramatic teens and early 20s. And yes, it's as gruesome lovely as you think it is. Someone's always PMSing. Someone's always expressing their feeeeelings in great detail. Someone's always bursting into tears. And someone (mainly me, since I have the best stuff) is always getting their shoes, makeup and clothes stolen borrowed.
And even though it is an overflowing river of estrogen around here, we manage to shake up some good times and try our best to love each other in these days we're blessed to have together.
I'm a house vixen who hates domestic crap but loves bonbons and wine.
And I've always had big love for the written word. My parents noticed this when I was a little girl. Having seven children, I'm amazed they knew anything about me besides my name. But they did. And they bought me a yellow notebook to write down all that was swirling around in my overly dramatic brain.
I've never stopped since.
A few years back, I had an early mid-life crisis, questioning the purpose of my life, knowing that half of it had already whooshed away when I wasn't looking. And that sucked. Like really bad.
In a crystalline moment, I realized I needed to open my writer's notebook and Just. Do. It.
I started writing a novel. At my desk, in my bed, in my backyard, in my car, (not while I was driving it), in my lawn chair at soccer practice, in doctors' and dentists' waiting room, in hotel rooms and in desperate peace-seeking moments, in my bathroom.
I also had a real writing job as a columnist for our esteemed local paper.
My columns were received quite favorably by my little Southern town and I am proud to say I received more positive letters to the editor about my columns than anyone or anything else. Well . . . except for the tongue-in-cheek column I wrote detailing my horror at being addressed as a ma'am for the very first time.
Turns out little Southern towns don't appreciate tongue-in-cheek humor when it comes to their ma'am's and most likely, their Confederate Flags. I'm pretty sure if tarring and feathering were still the rage, I would have been plumed up good and run out of town, hanging furrily from a pole.
Even after whipping this small town into a ma'am fury, I kept up my columns and my popularity until I realized my column was taking up all of me. I stepped away from the paper and devoted myself fully to my novel.
Fast Forward and somehow, miraculously, I've managed to pull it off. My novel is finished, something I never thought I'd say! And now comes the scary part, finding an agent who loves my words. Aack.
Let's see what else . . .
I'm in love with my dogs, but not so much my cat. The ducks? Well, that just proves I'm a masochist.
I'm also really judgmental especially when it comes to bad drivers and people who wear leggings as pants. I'm a profanity linguist, still boy-crazy, a lover of shoes, blog followers, dark chocolate, San Francisco, reading, good wine, Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain. Not really that last part, I hate getting my hair messed up. And I'd rather have a vodka and cranberry than a fluffy coconut drink.
I hate gum-snappers and Proposition 8. I've got friends who are officially discriminated against by law.
And I used to drive a Pinto.
And I used to drive a Pinto.
That's about it, for me.
Now, how bout you?
Facebook me. Tweet me. Blog follow me. I promise you some good times. Come along, I'll bring the wine.
Posted by Joann Mannix at 11:41 PM