I have known I wanted to make a living as a writer in some capacity since I was about 14. I always loved the English class essays and Book Reports. While my classmates saw these tasks as homework, I saw them as things I was doing anyway. I’ve been journaling since at least 6th grade. I remember creating journals out of construction paper and loose leaf paper for free writing during the first 15 minutes of every English class that year. My teacher told me it was good “brain exercise”. Sometimes we had prompts, and other times we were instructed to write what our hearts lead us to. Some days, students were chosen to share their work with the class. I refused.
When I look back on my life, I don’t see myself as ever having been rebellious throughout childhood. I never smoked in the bathroom or drank at parties on the weekends. I was never sent to the Principal’s office for being disruptive. I sat quietly in class, took notes, and learned. My only fault when it came to behavior was my incessant need to speak my mind. I always had something to say, and that hasn’t changed. But, at 30 years old, I’ve learned to pick my battles. Just because I want to say something doesn’t mean I need to say it out loud. This is where writing comes in.
The book cases that fill my home are lined with stories, both my own and others. I own more notebooks and journals than I could fill within five years time. What’s funny? I can easily talk all day about my opinions on things, but my writing? I don’t share that with people I know. I realize now it’s out of fear. What would people say about my writing? Would they hate it? Would they laugh? Would they love it? These are all possibilities.
Twice in my life I’ve shared my writing with two separate people I know, and both times they’ve told me it wasn’t their thing. Was it an insult? No. It was a statement. An opinion. I’ve read many things throughout life that weren’t my cup of tea. Did I take anything less than praise of my work as an insult? Yes, I absolutely did.
What I’ve come to realize recently is that half of writing is rejection. My job as a writer is not to write content everyone will like, it is simply to write. So here we are. I’m stepping outside my comfort zone. This definitely isn’t my first blog. I just tend to share my writing with strangers up to this point. I’ve built some amazing friendships through blogs. In fact, I met my two best friends, Amanda and Ashleigh on a blog site.
So here it is. This is me. I’m an insomniac a lot of the time and use snapchat filters to cover the bags under my eyes (usually). That’s not always the case. I fight for peace and love and equality. I don’t hold grudges. I simply refuse to surround myself with people or things that lower my energy. I live life every day with the intent of becoming a better version of myself and I try my hardest to be the person who smiles and says “hello” in the hall instead of keeping my head down and avoiding human interaction. What else am I?
I’m a writer. I specialize in half finished stories and blog posts. Some of you will read my posts and some of you will not. Some of you will like my work, and some of you will not. That’s okay. after 30 years, I’ve finally come to the realization that I have to do this for me. Like it or don’t. At this stage in my life, I couldn’t care less.