My husband started a music blog last week. Not just any music blog – he only highlights British indie music from the mid-late 90s that he  enjoyed while growing up in London. Some bands made it, most didn’t, and he’s kind of discussing what he liked about them, and seeing if any of them held up over time. It’s not something everyone will, but he loves it. He loves talking and writing about music, dissecting it for hours. It makes him ridiculously happy. So, I’m really glad he started the blog. (Because, let’s be honest, I can only humor him for so long.) (I kid.)

My two lives (writing & librarianship) kind of cosmically collided head on a few years ago. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, but didn’t know what kind of one (thus my explorations in journalism). I always knew I wanted to work with books, but didn’t know how (thus my book selling and teaching careers). So I read and researched. I started writing for me, and figuring out the life I wanted. Young adult books made me happy. I wanted to recommend them to children. And maybe write one myself.

I remember taking my young adult class in library school (yes, that was a class, and yes it was amazing) and gazing over the articles and books assigned. By the end of the semester, each one had tons of bright yellow highlights. Each had bookmarked pages, and underlines and stars. Each was dissected. Each was discussed with S (to his amusement, I’m sure) for hours upon hours. It didn’t feel like work. Writing those papers, reading those books – I would have done it for fun.

So now I’m the cusp of it all coming together. I’m a librarian (yay!) and I wrote my first book, working on my second. I’m doing it all because it makes me happy. Because let’s be honest…I may never make a mark on a young child’s life with my book recommendation or book written, but what I do? It makes me so, so happy.

So what makes you happy?

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