When I was a child, I loved to read. I was a kind of loner, I spent most of my time with books (when I wasn’t teasing my younger sisters). I remember sitting down in class and writing a story when I was 10 years old. I enjoyed the experience. No one read it and I didn’t think any more about it. During my angst-ridden teen years, I wrote some poetry and I even wrote about my feelings occasionally in journals. I dropped out of high school, mostly because of a rebellious and independent spirit. I worked at odd jobs at fast food restaurants, department stores and bakeries and didn’t pay any attention to writing. But I kept reading. One day, while working in a bakery, an older worker, with a cigarette dangling from her fingers (we could smoke everywhere in those days), asked “Do you want to bungle donuts for the rest of your life?” That question stuck with me. I worked as a bartender for 2 years, and worked my way up. I was the manager of the bar at age 19. But I drank too much and kept having a arguments with the owner, who also drank too much. People kept saying “you need to get out of here.” So I got a job as a secretary, which I HATED. One day I called the Peace Corps. I said I want to join. The nice man said, “Great, what is your degree in?” I began sobbing. It seemed I would need a degree to do anything. So I took my GED and applied for college. I write this background because it was my love of reading that helped me to do well in college, even as a high school dropout. Sure I had to take remedial math (twice). But I got through it. But the courses that involved research and writing were fun and easy to me. Reading opened a whole new world for me. Also, I discovered I could write. I would get remarks on my essay responses that they were very good, even though half the time I didn’t even remember what I wrote. I would re-read it and think “I wrote that?”
I wrote papers in school and a lot of business correspondence, but I was not writing for the benefit of writing. Then Katrina happened. I was in a very deep state of loss for a number of reasons. I began writing about things that were on my mind. I developed an email following. People responded very well to what I wrote. I became involved in ministry, and I wrote some class curricula. I attended graduate school (I got an MA, then studied at the seminary, then recently got an MSW). As I got busy, I again stopped writing unless it was work or school-related.
Occassionally I write a blog and I usually get good responses. Some are better than others. I read a book once that said “if you write, you are a writer, whether you are paid or not.” The trick is to call yourself a writer, and to write.
Usually I write when I have a throught buzzing around in my brain that I want to share. An experience I’ve had, or a lesson I’ve learned that others may find useful. Now it’s time to take the next step if I’m really going to be a writer. It’s time to expand my horizons, to get feedback from other writers, and to do specific writing assignments. It’s time to start writing regularly every week, whether I have something to write about on my mind or not. It’s time to push the button to see where the “writing bug” takes me.
During this journey, I’ll share my experiences. If you have ever thought about becoming a writer, perhaps you can relate, which is why I am sharing.