Last Friday, Kendra Levin (author of The Hero is You), asked the group of twenty or so people in audience, What is your writing mission? What are you writing for? After a few minutes of jotting in my journal, To change the world. To tell stories that matter, I came to the mission that rings most true for me: I want to tell little stories, to show the unseen, the unheard, and the unthought of.

Levin had opted to call her book signing a Writer's Workshop, and it really was that—but better. She told us to ask her questions we had about her book or writing style, or just to tell her what we've been working on. Levin is a life coach for writers, and her book is her trademark. I haven't read it yet, but I'll write all about it when I do.

It was an interesting hour, being in that room and surrounded by writers, because I heard so many stories and even got some marketing ideas, and it was the first time that I was surrounded by writers wanting to tell true stories.

1. A tall, skinny man was there with his wife (who wore a long fur coat) and talked about a specific complex topic that he's been dying to write for the last 25 years, but he can't seem to pin down the focus. He comes to a dead end, then starts a different chapter, over and over again.
2. Kathleen, a woman, in her 50s or 60s and who was a little shorter than my average 5'5”, said that she's working on a business book with humorous nonfiction stories. Her issue is that she's a public speaker, and can't seem to make the stories sound as funny on paper as they do in real life. She was wearing silver sparkly tennis shoes with matching socks. We exchanged e-mails later, and that night she sent me a message telling me to get to work on my blog and write those human interest stories.
3. Susan, a dark-haired woman with a deep voice, discussed how she used to work in social services, and she wants to research and write about whether or not it made any difference in peoples' lives. Her main concern was in what medium to write the book—a book, a script or something else?
4. I asked how to get my nonfiction work out there and make money—because I can't write the kind of stories I want to write without making that my full, or even just part-time job. Here is what I got:
   1. The owner of the bookstore said that most of the nonfiction books that come into Jabberwocky came from blogs.
   2. Eryn, a marketer, suggested that I update my blog at least once or twice a week, and get on Twitter.

I was careful not to go on a binge and tell the room what, exactly, I want to write, which is pretty much everything. Shot girls. Sex. Poverty. Writers. Small businesses. Shifting weather patterns. Religion. Friends. Loneliness. Moving from small town to the city to get sleep. Estimating everything, including my job.

Instead of thinking of the overload of topics I've been dreaming about writing for years, I went home and opened my folder of half-written blog posts, and I began to finish them. I plan on posting a blog every week, and I signed up for Twitter. It's amazing what the excitement of a few people who share a love can really do for each other, and shows me that writing is not lost to the world.

It's Naomi's day off. She isn't working first, second, or third shift at the Brethren Nursing Home today, and she's excited to go swimming. All summer, it's what she talks about. When her sister Rhoda said they were putting in a pool back in June, Naomi was certain that she'd go swimming many times this summer, but now it's already late July and she still hasn't been. Rhoda's house is an hour away and on her days off, Naomi isn't terribly interested. She wants to rest. And on days she has off, the weather prediction is often poor—calling for overcast skies or hurricane-like rains. She wants to read through some of her favorite sections in her Bible, hang out with Blaze, and read the new romance books she's been meaning to get to. This rarely happens. But today she is prepared to go any distance for a pool.

Of course, inevitably, her mom will call, and today is no different: her mom calls, asking if Naomi can take her grandfather to his doctor's appointment, because her mom needs to go to her own appointment, because her eye is swelling up, and she can't see well enough to drive. I am staying with Naomi because I want to write an in-depth story about her, so I end up driving her grandfather to his appointments. Naomi takes her mother all over the place, from general practitioner for what they think is poison ivy, to a specialist when the doctor worries about shingles. So Naomi loses her day off and it becomes a family day, rather than a work day, yet no less draining.

When she comes home later, she will complain, as any single, childless woman with a big family would; just because she doesn't have kids of her own doesn't mean that she doesn't have plans. "And I feel bad,” she said, “because if I did have a family, I know I'd be busy, but it just isn't fair. What, do I have 'No Life' stamped to my forehead?"

​She falls into her easy chair and gets on her phone to text friends and scan Facebook, with her little dog Blaze in her lap like a child.