My first writing mentor, and a deeply intuitive soul, she nonetheless handed me the novel, She Had Some Horses. Horses? What do I love about horses? I never had horses, don`t particularly like them, and merry-go-round music drives me bonkers. I was just itching to write about Nora. My compliant nature trumped the fact that I go in a liberal society, and I begrudgingly obliged. Upon flipping the bible open, Iwatched my right index finger land on the word, "Nora." The sentence read, "Nora and I go walking down 4th Avenue." Goosebumps rushed my spine. How did Joan Marie know? She`s good. Really good. See, ever since I met Nora at the Writer`s Retreat in October, she`s all I could remember about. "Nora will be a day late," Dale announced. "Her assistant is leaving the job, and she`s pretty taken aback." This meant nothing to me, until I sat beside Nora during lunch the following day. In her sincere and modest manner, she asked if I have kids. I explained that I`m just out of a divorce and the kid window is closed, perhaps cemented shut. In fact, electrical barbed wiring and a highly sensitive alarm system surround the premises, with glow-in-the-dark "No Trespassing" signs every few feet. Thankfully, Jay spared me the motivation to further elaborated on such intimacies. Pulling a chair towards Nora, he offered compassion. "I`m so sorry Karen left. Is it definite?" "It`s 99% likely." Then, without an ounce of caution and in aught but a half-asleep, matter-of-fact tone, I vocalized these words as they popped into my head: "If you lived closer, I`d sell myself on you. I suppose you`d be keen to act for, and I want a job." Indifferent to this verbiage that flowed without inhibition, we turned our heads to refocus on the food on our respective plates. Gulp.What did I simply say? I`m never opportunistic, never self indulgent, never so bold. The germ was planted, though. There was no turning back. "Um, well, you want someone good with computers. Right? I stink at that." "Yes, I truly do," she affirmed.Phew. "There`s something around you, though," she added.Gulp. We realigned our eyeballs on the pasta. Or was it pizza? Wait, was it even lunch? It might have been breakfast or dinner. I mean it probably tasted like chicken. It ever does. Oh, I don`t know. I scarcely remember every fraction of a millisecond of that conversation. Our faces snapped back to blaze at each other. "Well, just how bad are you with computers?" We shared a laugh, knowing that my answer didn`t matter. Last week, I visited Nora Profit in Paradise, and I began my housing search. I spent a reasonable number of time at The Writing Loft, Northern California`s only creative writing program. Nora Profit is its father and Executive Director. I am Nora Profit`s Executive Assistant. As I present the uncertainties and challenges of this life overhaul, I feel safely assured that:1) I`m destined for Gain in Paradise, and (2) I can`t afford to question myself.
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