Hi. My name is Betsy, and I’m a mother.
I’m also an award-winning magazine writer, and I’ve taught contemporary women’s memoir/essay at Phoenix College (not to be confused with the University of Phoenix). I’m the founder of MotherWriter, a group here in Phoenix that meets monthly to discuss the fine art and craft of writing, mothering, and balancing the two.
I graduated from Mount Holyoke College the same year the GPS satellite went into orbit much later, in 2007, I returned to academia for an MFA from Goucher College’s Creative Nonfiction program www.goucher.edu/mfa. Due to a completely unrelated act, I gave birth just over nine months later.
After four years, I’ve got the degree, two sons, and still have the husband. In addition to working on essays and articles, I’m also working on a novel about Lily McNutt, a ski town waitress who plots to save her beloved wilderness from corporate development by scheming to kidnap five of the nation’s wealthiest businessmen.Good luck, Lily. I’m also experimenting with children’s book manuscripts, although a love of reading children’s books doesn’t necessarily translate into a talent for writing them. Good luck, Betsy.
I have bungee jumped, skydived, pedaled bicycles up mountains, avoided labor twice (once with great drama and an emergency C-section), and won Honorable Mention more times than I care to mention–not, however, for giving birth. There don’t seem to be any awards for that. Oh right! It is its own reward.
I lived in a ski town for ten years, but now call the Arizona desert home and, since I became a mother of weebots 24/7, most of my trysts with my computer can be measured in minutes, if not seconds. That happens though– right?–with longterm love.
I began this blog as a much-needed morning meditation, and called it “five to six.” My hope was that it would allow me to focus on things that might otherwise go unnoticed. I theorized that if I gave them my full attention, they would give me–and any readers–moments of lucidity and levity.
But day after day, I missed my self-allotted time slot, due to short, noisy factors, and it seemed that, after three months, the only thing I was consistently commenting on was superhero suits, superhero masks, miniature superheroes, and superhero underpants.
I soon realized that there is magic in superhero underpants (and not what you might imagine). They make whoever’s wearing them feel a little bit taller, a little bit stronger, and little bit more in control than they actually are.
Most days, the only chance I get to put mine on is here.
(I am speaking strictly metaphorically, of course.)