…it was something I enjoyed doing before I even understood why I found it enjoyable. I was only 12 when I started writing stories in notebooks. My mother was forever telling me that I had a vivid imagination; maybe I subconsciously connected the two. As I progressed through high school, the stories I wrote evolved into lengthy, involved “mini-novels”.
In my Junior year, my English Lit teacher praised an essay I wrote for my final exam, saying it was how all essays should be done. I left class that day feeling more confident, knowing that writing was what I definitely wanted to do. Back then, I wanted to write a novel and dreamed of being a published best-selling author; it was all about fame, fortune, book signings.
My writing has evolved with age and maturity, but the need to write has stuck with me throughout marriage, children, and a multitude of other experiences. In recent years, I’ve come to realize that my writing is not about achieving fame and fortune by writing best-selling novels. It’s about a much deeper, more meaningful purpose ~ helping other people by sharing relatable experiences. My four blogs may target different audiences, but my reason for having them is the same ~ to inspire, uplift, support my readers and help them overcome the situations we may have in common by writing about how I did it. Additionally, writing out my experiences is extremely therapeutic and doing so has become a necessary part of gaining closure.
In true writer form, I write as much as I can and when I’m not writing, I’m thinking about ideas for articles and various projects I want to do. After 38 years of writing, I’ve retained my original writing method and do most of my writing, armed with a pen and my notebook while sipping coffee in a café. It just seems more natural that way.