A Writer Is Born

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. An amazing teacher in third grade helped me tap into my ability and my love of the written word. I already sought solace in reading. By the time I started third grade I had already attended 7 different schools. 7. I’ve never quite forgiven my parents for the trauma all that moving caused me. They deny it, but honestly they aren’t me and so they can’t even imagine what I felt. I was traumatized. I didn’t know how to make friends, at least not for long term, because as soon as it seemed like I was adapting and making friends, we were gone again. So, reading was the place I could go, find adventures and make friends that couldn’t leave me. Third grade brought many, many writing assignments and so something I remembered dreading before that, suddenly became a new escape. In my stories anything was possible. I could be anyone I wanted and go wherever I wanted. Oh, the worlds I could create.

My writing continued to develop and I improved. I entered contests, winning awards, attending writer’s conferences, sucking in all the information I could to be better. I dreamed of becoming famous and writing a Bestselling Novel. I definitely improved over the years, but then I began to be self-concious of my writing and shared it less & less. Of course, it doesn’t help that when I would share my writing would be torn apart without being constructive. Warning: Don’t say anything that isn’t constructive criticism to a writer. If you can’t do that, you have no business judging someone’s work.

I’m still dreaming of being a famous writer. I’ve become more cautious with my writing. If you are lucky enough to be given the chance to read my works of fiction, you’d be numbered among a small few that I’m willing to share with. I still love to write. I’ve been suffering from Writer’s Block, maybe this blog will help me find my way around.

If you’re here reading this, you are numbered with those I trust with my writing and my secrets. Be kind.

A Writer is born.


Titles, Names, Roles and My Story

Writer. Actress. Movie Buff. Singer. Introvert. Home Business Owner. Book Obsessed. Crafter. Paper-crafter. Archaeologist. Student. Daughter. Sister. Wife. Mother. Best Friend. A million titles, names and roles that I fill everyday. Yet, there is another list, one that I often keep to myself. It’s a list of names, of roles that I wish I could rip up and erase from my life. Unfortunately, that’s not how life works, is it?

If you can’t rid yourself of them, then what options do you have? Granted I could attempt to deny them and their side effects, but that’s just asking for trouble. Denying reality doesn’t do anything besides hurt you further.

So, today I’m going to be Brave. Today I’m going to be honest with the world, with myself. I’m going to embrace myself. My titles, my names, my roles, every little thing that makes me, well me. It won’t be easy. It definitely won’t be easy. But I’m going to try.

If you’re here with me for the long haul, I welcome you with my arms wide open. If you decide this story isn’t for you, I get it too. I’ve blogged about my family. I’ve blogged about my crafting business. I’ve blogged because college required it of me. I’ve blogged to share recipes. I’ve blogged to practice my fiction writing. I’ve blogged to share. All great. All enjoyable.

Today…today I’m blogging for me. I’ve spent far to long bottling myself up. Avoiding saying what I really feel because I’m afraid that I’ll say something I can’t take back. Afraid of really dealing with how my diagnosis has changed my world. Changed my life, my family. How it changed me.

I’m not sure where to start. Honestly I feel a bit overwhelmed. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but in the more recent past I’ve felt like my writing is lacking. A mind full of doubt. I’m not even sure I’m any good at this. But this is self therapy and it’s free. Like I said if you decide to quit reading this blog, it’s really ok. I’m writing for me anyway.

Welcome to my story.