Me? A Writer?

I don’t really consider myself a writer, but I write. Back in school I wrote notes to almost every friend I ever had at some point. I was the queen of notes. I had stories with some friends, and we’d go back and forth with notes, adding to the story. Some notes got carried away. Far, far away. Eventually I learned that not everything needs to be written down. Some things really are better left unpenned.

I never thought of myself as a writer, but I write. Often in college, I thought it would be nice to write a book about my childhood. I had a really wonderful, blissful childhood. There were no major traumas or hardships. I was really spoiled in being a child. I had no complaints about it, and I thought it might make a great modern day Laura Ingalls story. I never did get around to doing it. To me, writing a book, a whole book myself, sounded out of reach. Sounded like something smart, older people do. Not me.

When people ask me, “What do you do?” I never say, “I’m a writer,” but I write. The first time I got pregnant, I kept a detailed journal of thoughts and feelings throughout. I was so excited to start this journey of parenthood. I was thrilled to write in my baby’s book, and record every first she had in her first year. As more babies came, the writing was less, simply from being busy. It was still meaningful to me to do it, to let the other two know about themselves in their babydom.

When my first child learned to read and write, she knew she wanted to be a writer, not me, but I write. I watched her love for books and the written word grow further than I ever could imagine. I knew, in my heart, she would be a great author one day. When she was small, and bed times were a bit rough, I used to think of ways to ease her little, creative, over worried mind. I used to tell her I loved her no matter where I was. Even if I went to the moon, I would still love her. I thought I’d make a children’s book about it. I even wrote it out and sketched some very rough drawings for it. But I didn't know how to go about publishing it, or getting someone to publish it (pre self publishing days). So it didn't happen.

As a parent, I became a good storyteller. Children love to hear stories, whether from books, or made up from their heads or yours, or stories about when you were little yourself. I never thought to write any of them down, to be a writer, but I write. I have vivid dreams from time to time. Sometimes I like to tell them to someone when I wake up. One time I told my husband and daughter about a strange, science fictiony dream I had, that stuck in my mind. My daughter told me I should write it down. I said I would, and found an old school composition book, and wrote down the dream. As I wrote, I didn't think of myself as a writer, but only a recorder of the dream. I wanted to share it, so I wanted to make sure I recorded it in as much detail as I could remember. I enjoyed it. Of course, when my daughter read it, she thought I was a goddess. She told me to make it into a story. She asked if she could make it into one, but she was already working on about four of her own. I already had an idea for it anyway.

I started to write my story. I wrote fiendishly sometimes, where other times I would go months without touching it. It kept calling to me, bringing me back. My daughter read new material every time I finished some. She loved it, and encouraged me to keep going. About three and a half years later, I had a story, a book, a novel. I am still learning about how to prepare it for publishing, but I am excited to share it soon. I feel more like a recorder, than a writer, but I write. I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I do.