My Muse

My niece is a professional writer. That is to say, she's paid to write. Not true with most writers. I'm blessed with having so many "larger than life" people in my world. She fits way up there toward the top.

Since she's my children's peer we haven't been in close contact over the years. I keep up with her mother, whom I adore.

Then my niece started a blog. It's gutsy and funny. She makes herself vulnerable - but in doing so all I see is this heroic person choosing to do some really hard stuff with her life - and then blogging about it. It's not always pretty but it's always funny - and real. She's very brave.

I know what it's like to be vulnerable. I've lived in a fishbowl my entire adult life. Danger is always lurking.

But part of being a writer is being real.

My niece helped me get my blog up and running and has been exceedingly encouraging. She's my muse. But if she had a problem with any of it she'd tell me in an entertaining way - because she's gutsy, funny, brave and smart.

Oh, and a professional writer.

Once, several years ago, my niece attended a funeral where she met a couple of men, her age, that she had every reason to dislike - intensely. There was some bad family history. Innocent people whom she loves were hurt.

By the way, she is drop dead gorgeous. And, at that time she was vice president of a large bank. A powerful woman by any measure.

Anyway, these men were coming on to her. (Who wouldn't?) When one of them asked where she worked she said, "I work at XX bank." Most likely thinking she was a teller, they said, "We probably know you. We lay carpet at that bank."

(Let's think about all of the ways she could have crushed them on the spot.)

But she didn't. She was kind. Never told them what she did.

She's a class act.