When I was a kid, I knew, without a doubt, that I would be a writer when I grew up. My head was so full of words and stories, I couldn't get them down on paper fast enough.
Page after page after page, handwritten scribbles about people, places and things I wanted to tell stories about. Some were good, were some ok but most of it was pretty bad. Poems about crushes on boys in school or the occasional rock star. Short stories about finding true love and adventures outside of the small town I lived in. Essays about feeling alone when constantly surrounded by other people.
And then I grew up. Those words on paper became fewer and far between. Why? Life. Work. College. Relationships. Family. Whatever other reason you want to throw in there for good measure. There just wasn't time. And that joy I felt of just letting all the words flow no longer existed. It was bottled up and wrapped tight in worry that I was trying to be something that I wasn't.....creative, quirky, cool.
But that itch has returned. That need to put words down on paper (both analogue and digital) and I suppose share them with the world. I have poems in my head, ideas to share and a short story or two to tell.
Do I have time for any of this? Not at all.
Do I care that I don’t have time for this? Not at all.
Am I excited about doing it? 100%. That is what makes it all of this
worth it.
“If we seek for the best times to act, we may miss some opportunities. We must seize the moment and make it great.”― Lailah Gifty Akita, Pearls of Wisdom: Great mind