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middleagedwoman
In 2008, after 31 years of teaching high school math, I retired. During that time, the mathematics department had gone from predominantly male to predominantly female. And I had the satisfaction of knowing I’d positively influenced many young women to pursue mathematics, business, and science careers.

When asked about my retirement plans, I told everyone I was going to write. Raised eyebrows and interesting comments followed.

“With a math degree?”

“Are you planning to write a math textbook?”

“Why don’t you just relax?”

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Whenever I receive several rejection letters in a week, or feel the need for an extra dose of creative motivation, I read this story, which is adapted from an old folk tale.

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Each day, ten-year-old Miranda put on the pink tutu that Aunt Amelia had lovingly created for her, and danced around the house. She was a beautiful and graceful dancer, and she was determined to play the role of Sleeping Beauty.


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Last January, I was on the verge of abandoning my writing dream. I was letting it die a slow death because I was consumed by negative thoughts.

Was I good enough? 
Would anyone want to read the two novels that were languishing in a drawer? 
If I let this dream go, what would take its place?


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