Honestly, I did not cheat.

When I was in middle school, I took a creative writing class. I have always loved writing. I think I express my thoughts much better in the written word than spoken. Writing gives me that extra moment or two to select the perfect words, to craft the best phrases.

When I speak, I pause in awkward places while I try to explain what I’m thinking. And for some reason, when I’m talking, the part of my brain that contains vocabulary and can cleverly arrange words in magical ways seems to be on break. As soon as I walk away from the conversation, my words and cleverness return. I always think of the perfect thing to say about an hour after I needed it.

When I write, I also get to proofread and edit. Once words spill out of my mouth, I can’t replace one with a better one or rearrange them for more impact and delight.

I am a fluent writer and a rather spastic speaker.

In my middle school creative writing class, I wrote my heart out. I remember the teacher vividly. I always liked him and was happy to be in his class. Now, middle school was a very, very long time ago, and some of the details are sketchy. I don’t remember whether I was excelling in the class, if my teacher liked my writing, or if I was struggling and he didn’t quite appreciate my style and wit.

What I do remember is that another class, a year ahead of us, was doing a really fun project and I desperately wanted to do it too. They had been assigned a writing project where they had to create a country. They had to include things like a map, describe the landscape, the government, the major cities, the economy, the language — everything. It sounded fascinating, and I wanted to do my own.

Then an opportunity appeared: a “free writing extra credit” assignment.

Like magic.

And I knew exactly what I was going to write.

I was going to create my country.

No — better than that.

I was going to create a whole world.

I was one of those horse-crazy girls. You know the type: the slightly awkward girls who gallop instead of run when they think no one is looking. Of course, people are always looking. When I first learned to speak, I’m fairly certain my first words were “mommy,” “daddy,” and then, “I want a horse.”

So naturally, if I had the chance to create a whole world, that world was going to revolve around horses.

I wrote and drew and clipped magazine pictures and pasted them into my project. I designed countries, cities, governments, economies, trade systems, and even languages. I was completely consumed by this project for weeks, and what I created felt so magical that I wanted to teleport to the world I’d invented.

When I finally handed in my project, I was beaming. I felt a bit like the kid in A Christmas Story when he hands in his letter to Santa asking for the Red Ryder BB gun.

Instead, I got a worse grade than his C.

I got an F.

Across the top page of the book I’d handed in was written: “See me after class.”

After class, choking back tears (which I’m not very good at), the teacher told me he knew I had cheated. He was certain I had copied a report from the other class or used one of the older students’ projects as my own.

I was devastated.

I went home and told my mom. She had seen me working on my project. She had heard about it night after night after night. I remember she wrote a note to the teacher. But I don’t remember how it all ended. What I do know is that after that, I never liked that teacher very much.

But I do remember my horse world.

I remember the magic. The joy. The delight of creating a little world of my own.

I had drawn maps and invented languages. Designed governments and trade routes. Pasted pictures from magazines and imagined what life would be like there.

It was the first time I realized that writing could create a place someone might want to visit.

Now, many years later, I find myself doing something similar again.

The Whole Woman Joy Circle is, in its own way, another little world. A place where women in midlife and beyond can gather to explore ideas, share stories, nourish themselves, and rediscover joy.

This time the world is built with conversations, invitations, recipes, walks, reflections, and laughter.

And just like that imaginary world I created in middle school, it begins with a small group of women who arrive first.

I’m calling them the First Circle.

They are the early explorers. The women who step into this little world first, help shape it, and watch it grow.

If you’ve been following along as this world begins to take form, you may be one of them.

And if so, I’d love to welcome you into the First Circle.

If you're curious about the little world that is just beginning to take shape, you can learn more about the Whole Woman Joy Circle here.