Like I said, it’s impossible to get published without writing.
So here I am, writing.
It’s 12AM, Easter morning, and I just finished reading an article in the L.A. Times my mom gave me. All about writers and the moments they knew when they wanted to write. I love that, reading about writers’ experiences. Because it helps remind me that writing is extremely personal–everyone’s journey is and will always be different. Most of the time, it isn’t glamorous. Or perfect. Or successful (right away). So why on earth do we continuously compare ourselves with other writers?
My love of writing began my junior year in high school. Specifically, Ms. B, my English teacher, was the first to ever encourage me to pursue it. Soon I began enjoying putting words together. Finding the right rhythm and tone for sentences. Wanting my essays to sing like poetry. Before, writing was always so literary. So graded. So discouraging (10th Grade English Teacher. You know who you are.) But all that aside, I thought my love of art would win out in college. So I took off to Pepperdine, fine arts major on the mind. Until my first Freshman English course, where the encouragement continued. Freshman year was coming to a close and declaring a major was nearing. Art slowly slipped from my mind as writing began to fill my time. My mind. My soul. Everything. I suddenly couldn’t get enough. And for the first time, felt confident in a skill that was creatively mine.
Remembering that moment helps stir in me that passion I have but sometimes set aside for the day-to-day routine. But it’s that passion that drove me through tough courses and writer’s block. To write a play, a screenplay, numerous poems, essays, articles, a children’s book, two middle-grade novels, and a draft of the third. It’s needed. Necessary. And when taped into, so incredibly addictive. Passion, I miss you. Please stay for the long haul. I promise to treat you right.
How about you, readers? When was your moment?