When I was a kid in grade school, I realized early on I had a knack for making up stories. I wasn’t the best liar (my mother used to tell me my eyes would give me away; they are ginormous, so I could see how that could be the case), but if you gave me a pen and paper, I could tell you the story of my days as an unwed fifth grade mother of twins with a Puerto Rican husband named Dominic. And, yes, I really shopped that story around to the rest of my classmates. Needless to say I didn’t have a lot of friends back then.

My desire to spin a yarn caused me to drop my love for animals and notion for a career in veterinary science for a cleaner job - journalism. You laugh, but I didn’t know much about journalism when I picked it. I just knew I didn’t want to be on television. The first lecture of my Journalism 110 class, the professor opened her lesson with the following words: If you want to make money in this business, you have to be a broadcast journalist. Thus went my journalism career. Think I was crazy for ditching a chance to have my face plastered on the boob tube?

Not so funny anymore now, huh?