Ever since I learned how to, I’ve loved to write. I loved coming up with stories, my biggest problem was I never finished most of them. With so many ideas, I was excited to start the next one, and the same thing would happen.
I dreamed of being a children’s author. It’s all I could ever see myself being. There are other things I could have done, but I had this dream and I knew I would never be happy doing anything else. But in going after my dream, I was miserable at the job I had because at the time, it was all I felt I was worth.
That was a low point in my life, when nothing mattered at all and I couldn’t see a way out of where I was. Especially when any stories I managed to finish and submit to a publisher was met with the same thing – rejection. And it’s always so hard to hear that you feel like giving up, and for awhile I did, because I didn’t want to feel like I’d failed again – to put everything I had into something to be told it’s not good enough. I wasn’t good enough.
But it wouldn’t be long before my fingers started itching again, another story would be trying to get out. Writing is ingrained in my soul. You can’t quit a part of who you are. It just gets put away for awhile.
It’s hard when nobody understands how much it means to you. Nobody understands the words swirling around in your head, characters, plots, snippets of conversation all bursting to come out, but when you try to get it on paper, it fades or doesn’t sound as good as when that flash of inspiration struck.
Over the past few years, I’ve become a mother and writing was something I didn’t have the time or energy for. I’d do little bits here and there, but not enough to finish anything or get anywhere. But in the back of mind, it has always been there, never really gone. I’ve tried pushing it aside, but it always comes back.
And while I still may not have the time or energy, at the beginning of this year I made the decision to make time. To do this for myself. I may have to type with one hand while my daughter climbs all over me, like she’s doing right now. My son has just finished kindergarten and my daughter is finally starting to sleep better. Well, most of the time, anyway. So now is as good a time as any. It may have taken me most of the year, but I finally got there.
I may never be the children’s author I always dreamed of, but I’m still a writer.
The words are itching to come out again, and I want to share some part of that. That’s why I decided to start this blog. Share my experiences of life, being a mother and things I love in general.
It feels good to write again.