The Origins of my Love of Writing

A long time ago I started reading when my Dad was trying to teach my brother to read. Josh was eighteen months older than me and Dad was reading to him. Josh wouldn’t say the words after Dad, but I did. That’s when I began to read.

In elementary school, I was always reading. In sixth grade (elementary school went to sixth grade and then you went to high school with 7th through 12th) while other kids were at recess, I was in the library re-shelving books. During the last award assembly for sixth grade, Mrs. Robertson proudly announced I was the only one in the 550 point club in the Accelerated Reader program. I didn’t just love books, I took them in like air. I devoured books.

In high school, I got in trouble for reading during class. My love of writing stems from reading. In sixth grade I remember trying to write a story then thought it wasn’t good and threw it away. Two years later, in 8th grade I tried again. The next year, I discovered my Acadia world. I wrote several pieces of drafts, half of which was due to my brother constantly tinkering with the computer and rebuilding it. Most of those drafts I don’t have. At one point, I saved it on a floppy disc. Yes, I am old enough to know how to use a computer with a floppy drive. I miss floppy discs.

Reading developed my imagination. Reading allowed me to dive into other worlds and live there. It let me know I wasn’t alone. I dreamed of Knights coming to the rescue, Princes sweeping the Princess away, Kings and Queens riding out to Certain Doom and somehow surviving. I began to try to write like them. In high school I tried out several points of view and decided I liked 3rd Omniscient best.

In college, I realized how amazing 3rd Limited is and how 1st Person was surprisingly difficult to write though everyone says it’s the easiest POV. My Acadia novels sprouted, instead of one novel I found I had a trilogy and that I had started writing the last book first. I didn’t know what to do with my life in college. I thought being a writer was going to be easy. I just had to get my degree. Yeah, easy peasy, ‘possum pie always greasy.  I made bad choices, lost my scholarship, and dropped out of school. I started working then I had two jobs. I am still working full time. I looked up writing jobs a couple years after dropping out. Every single job required at least a bachelor’s if not a master’s degree. They would never hire me. No degree, no dream job. Oh sure, I can still write. I will always write. I think if I stop writing my brain will combust.

When I was sixteen I discovered poetry using it to relieve “teenage angst,” my depression, anger, loneliness. It worked. Writing all the darkness helped it not corrode my heart away. Depression, anger, loneliness, hurt, pain, broken-ness, are like poison if left inside too long. We need to let it out. I am a firm believer that writing helped save my life. I want to use my writing to help other people. I want them to know that they are not alone in their struggle.

I love writing because I enjoy it. I love talking about manuscripts and the work I read of others and what I think could make it better, or just if I liked it, where I thought it was going and how I wanted to see more of a character’s personality. You know, just writing. Anything writing I’ll talk about. I’m basically just a books, writing, flowers, animals type of girl.

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