Many thanks to Amy at http://writeminded.blogspot.com/. This post stems from her post. It's all about writing.
I wrote when I was younger because words fascinated me. I have the first book I ever read. A kind older woman gave it to me at the laundromat we used to frequent. I think the copyright is in the thirties or forties. And it was about animals. I devoured it. When I was in first grade, I took a fourth grade test. Actually, a SRA for those who remember them. I missed one. Thus the discussion became, what shall we do with her? The principal and teacher contacted my parents. The decision was ultimately mine. I had the opportunity to skip second grade. And so, I did.
This one moment in my early childhood utterly changed and shaped who I am today.
Words continued to call to me. I was a regular at the library. I wrote in middle school to escape. I wrote in high school to keep my sanity. My English classes were Heaven. I'm the geek who loved the tests and the essays. I tolerated Math and Science, but oh man, put me in an English class, and I'll be yours forever.
I went to college. This was a dark time for me. Things were not well. And I wrote dark poetry. One of these is in the college Anthology they did one year. I used a pseudonym. I vowed to never use another one. When I went to the reading, it wasn't the same. And I wouldn't ever use another name for the work of my heart.
I married a man who wasn't very good for me (euphemistically speaking). I wrote in journals because I didn't have any other voice at the time.
When he was gone, I thought back to a wonderful character I developed in college. Think Kate Hepburn. Feisty. Fun. And there began the first story I ever wrote.
How do you feel when you finally find yourself? Grateful. Happy. Blessed.
I felt all of these. But I had children to support and bills to pay. So I worked six years as a lab tech doing shift work. 12 hour days-3 in a row. Then three off. Then 12 hour days-3 nights in a row. There is nothing like having two hours of sleep, picking up your kids, and then working twelve hours from 7 pm to 7 am.
And finally, I could quit. I could pursue my writing with everything in me. And I have. The looks I received when I quit were quite interesting. The engineers thought I had lost my mind. I received looks of pity and outright disbelief. I was making $12 an hour. And I quit.
And now I'm happy. I'm 33 years old, and I have found what I want to do with the rest of my life. It's invaluable. Indescribable. Glorious.
Writing to me is the breath that my body needs to function. I've finally found my way, and I will pursue this to the end of my days.
5 months ago