About Karina Coombs
After an eight year hiatus from my native Massachusetts, where I had been a 30-something single Somerville-living Project Manager, I returned as a 40-something wife of one, mother of two, multiple dog owning exurb dweller. I've went from being a stay at home parent with little to no hobbies to a freelance writer, journalist, and amateur photographer.
Writing was something I hadn't thought of doing since I was 12 and deep in my Henry James, Tom Robbins, and William F. Buckley Jr. phase (the latter I now blame on a fever dream and too much Paper Chase). My interest in journalism also began in the 80s, inspired by Peter Weir's The Year of Living Dangerously, Oliver Stone's Salvador, and P.J. O'Rourke's Holidays in Hell.
[Insert something here about soul-crushing teen angst...] In my mid-20s - GED in hand - I returned to school and slowly made my way from community college night courses to counting Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright as my fellow Wellesley College alumnae, much to the dismay of many a high school guidance counselor.
I had a short lived "Gal Friday" career at a local company where I dabbled in research, QA, technical writing, IT, customer service, and project management before heading west to live in the shadows of 1 Infinite Loop, get married, and have my much beloved eldest. A job-inspired wanderer phase brought us through Texas, back to California, and off to Colorado where we had our much beloved youngest. Once we realized Colorado needed an ocean to offset some of those mountains, we knew it was time to come home.
A friend encouraged me to start a blog after one too many snarky Facebook posts and I took her suggestion. We live in a very historic part of Massachusetts and I started writing about it. The local newspaper offered me a chance to write news and feature articles based on nothing, but the fact that I was a recent arrival and might have a fresh perspective on things. At the time I knew nothing about journalism other than how to get unlimited and free New York Times articles.
For the past five years I've written for the Carlisle Mosquito, learning as I went, loving my byline (and those top of the fold pieces!), but never quite getting to the point that I stopped looking behind me whenever someone said, "The press is here."
Now what... Well, I've decided to go back to writing for myself to see what words come out when I'm not worried about what the neighbors might think of them.
Writing is as painful as I remember and I can take procrastination to deeply satisfying levels when faced with a deadline. But it also gives me satisfaction like nothing else in the world ever has. It is the wind beneath my monkey.
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