Coming to Terms with my Nerdom

Bold. Adventurous. Expansive. These are characteristics that I value, and I might even dare say that a few of my friends would describe *me* this way. So why can’t I come to grips with my love of editing? Why does it make me feel like a word nerd? (Like that’s a bad thing?)

My first “published” work was a tale called “Sammy the Squirrel,” written for the Young Author competition with the encouragement of my grandpa, who also taught me when I was 2 to go around and tell people that I could say “elephant.” (No, it wasn’t obnoxious at all.)

When I grew up, I was supposed to be a writer. All my teachers said so. My dad had visions of me traveling the world reporting for National Geographic — a dream I still relish. As a little girl, I imagined that I’d someday live in a high-rise apartment in New York with cats and plants, making my way as a novelist. Kind of Carrie Bradshaw with more cats and of course no sex.

I kind of did those things. No, not the New York apartment or the cats or National Geographic, but I have made a decent living working variously as a part-time newspaper reporter, an advertising copywriter and a writer for small businesses of whatever they needed written. I even got paid for some travel, food and wine writing, which, if you ask me, is like getting paid twice. Anthony Bourdain was my spirit animal, and I nearly fainted when I got to…