When I Grow Up…

I have always wanted to be a writer ever since the fourth grade when I wrote my first short story about a house in the winter woods.  My uncle Henry paid me a few bucks for writing it and I was hooked!  But over the years I have struggled with the ‘why’ of my desire to write.  I had always been a rather shy and withdrawn individual and the teasing I received in school didn’t help matters any.

Finally succumbing to the pressures of my peers, I saw myself as a nothing.  I wasn’t special, no matter how many times my parents told me differently.  And I wrote.  So many short stories with my classmates as the main characters hoping that somehow I could find a way to fit in.  Some liked it, others just ignored it.  I began to live through the characters in my short stories.  They became my friends and confidantes.  Strange, I know, but for a teenage girl feeling the pressures and the strain of her own angst, it helped to alleviate the pain of being the outcast.

I wanted to make a statement to the world.  I wanted to become rich and famous through the words that I jotted down, and to show my peers that, yes, I was a somebody.  Not the loser they saw me as.  And yes, my words have brought comfort to me fretting soul.  The poetry I write has been and still is a release for my deep inner turmoil that festers within me.  Nice picture, isn’t it?

I love words. I am one of those ‘crazy’ people who reads the dictionary, discovering new words and meanings.  As I’ve grown older, I have calmed down quite a bit.  Now instead of seeking glory and fame, just give me the ability to write for a living and make a few bucks off of it.  I’ve learned to be content with who I am on the inside.  I can control the demons within.  Though sometimes the thoughts in my head scare even me.  I worry that if I write about this or that what would people think of this ‘nice Christian girl’?  But I’ve come to realize that I need to release the stories within me.  Writing is like an addiction, you have to do it.

And the reading part about writers is sooo true.  I love to read.  Books have been my friends through the years.  So many different authors and titles.  Yes.  Now I’ve learned the art of contentment and of peace.  Perhaps the saying is right that with age brings wisdom…and peace.

Happy writing to you all.  If your dream is to write, then by all means do it.  We’ll encourage each other!

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