I used to be uncomfortable telling people at cocktail parties that I’m a writer. Today, I’m fierce about it. The fact that my day job as a writer/party planner (go figure) at The University of Iowa pays the bills and provides health insurance, – I only mention it as an afterthought. I may spend more time at my desk at that job, but my mind is forever on the page, playing with language and new ideas for books or articles.
 
This change in my self-concept has come not so much through publication but through an understanding of how crucial writing is to my well-being. “Why are you an artist?” asked the oppressively flamboyant painter Olivier in the series “Six Feet Under.” “Because I can’t help it,” replied Russell.
 
Boy, do I get that. Writing is both a life jacket and a heavy rock that I can’t let go of. I often wonder why I had to be a writer – because it does feel like I’m a writer much the same way that I’m an American or blonde; I just am. It’s an annoyance. A stray cat that insists on being fed. But in the end, I know that writing has the power to save me. I’m not overstating.
 
With two little kids, a husband in graduate school, and a job-job, writing occurs slowly. In spurts.  It happens on airplanes and late at night. On weekend mornings and at times it’s not really supposed to. It comes out between the seams. And the fact that it keeps coming means something tremendous to me, even if the rest of the world only blinks.
 
The pieces on this web site have been produced in the past 15 years. The first piece I wrote as an adult, “Paper Clothed Strangers,” was written while I was working at Microsoft as an editor. The computers would frequently go down. One never knew for sure how long they’d be out of service. As there was no Internet to play around on at that time and nowhere to go, save for the monotonous Microsoft campus, I began writing essays, and this was the first.
 
In addition to my personal essays, I have also included some recent commercial work. I find these bread and butter projects very gratifying, in part because they often allow me to collaborate with others.
 
In the pipeline of my brain are two books: one about the writing community in Iowa City and another loosely titled Autodidacts, Polymaths, and Philosophers of the Road about people who have embraced alternative forms of learning. I’m also documenting my daughter as she learns to write.
 
The other day as we walked down a path and a bumble bee buzzed passed, she looked at me excitedly, “Mama!” and wrote in the air with her pointer finger: B E E. I was electrified. To see her learn to cobble letters into words and eventually into sentences is to know that she’ll soon have a whole other world to enter whenever she wants.
 
To learn more about my work or to talk about presentations on Drawing from Life or Dan Eldon: The Art of Life, please email me at jkn@jennifernew.com.