If you like me fancy yourself a hardcore book fanatic, then you like me might just dream about becoming a writer. I've been writing since I was a kid, scribbling in hidden notebooks and journals. I've spent endless hours lying in bed at night replaying a scene over and over until I finally passed out from exhaustion, only to awaken the next morning upset I'd fallen asleep before getting to the good part. And, as much as it pains me to admit, I have (upon occasion) locked myself in a bathroom to act out a scene of dialogue. We will not get into the many musicals and dances I've created in my spare time.
All these years, I've concealed my secret desire to become a writer. Partly because I'm a self-deprecating mess of a person and partly because anytime I've broached the subject with random people in my life I’ve received blank looks of you-want-to-do-what-now, which always led to the how-cute face. The only logical conclusion I could form is writing is somewhat frowned upon.
You can imagine the reaction when three years ago (after the birth of my fourth child), I changed my major from Elementary Education to English with a Creative Writing Emphasis.
Conversations went something like:
random peep: You changed your major? Cool. What is it now?
me: Creative Writing.
random peep: Wow. What are ya gonna do with that? Teach?
me: Um... no.
random peep: Really? Then what?
me: Write creatively?
random peep: Wow. Well, good luck with that. It's really hard.
Even mentioning my desire to fellow artists (musicians, photographers, and the like) earned me an odd look and a weak pat on the back. The poll results were in, the masses had spoken, me becoming a writer equaled fail.
An overabundance of these conversations coupled with my aforementioned stellar self-esteem and I quickly zipped up any and all talk on writing, hid what I was doing from everyone save a few online friends and my wonderful mister.
Between picking up and dropping off my kids at school, I attempt to write as much as is humanly possible while a toddler choke holds me. Countless times my friends and family have asked me what I do all day long. My response? Oh, you know, stuff. This has led many of my friends and family to believe I am extremely anti-social. At this point, I think they all believe I'm hopelessly addicted to Twilight, reading it multiple times in a day.
Until recently, that is, when after seven years I graduated from a local college with an associates (that's right seven years for a two year degree) in Creative Writing. After some soul-searching and encouragement from my mister and my bestie, I decided to say to hell with all the killjoys and roll with it. Now when someone asks what I've been up to I say (proudly, but with a slight blush) "I've been writing all day long! What you got to say 'bout it, fool!?" Okay, so I don't get up in their bizness, but I think you get the point. As if a dam broke inside of me, I actually finished my second full length novel (one I'm fairly proud of) and the ideas started popping up in my brain-brain for more stories.
The moral of the story?
The more I've tried to hide my passion for writing-- due in part to shame and silliness-- the more I've harmed my writing. By opening up and facing the naysayers (myself included), I have broken something loose inside of me, something that has been holding me back, something extremely melodramatic and emo. [insert epic eye roll here]
And so, here I am starting a blog (because isn't that what we all do nowadays) on my journey as a writer. From musical influences to the outright overwhelming steps of getting published, I plan to share my journey in an effort to get all this madness out of me brain-brain. You are very welcome, webernets.
Will I succeed? Only time will tell. Truth be told, I feel as if I already have.
You, my fellow reader, are more then welcomed to join me on this journey. If you are a writer, come out and play. I am dying to share with other writers and learn from them! If you are a book lover, share with me your passion for books. My addiction to reading overwhelms me at times. And if you just.so.happen. to be one of the naysayers, welcome to the party in my head. It's a mess, but it's all me.