WHY I WRITE

I’ve always wanted to be a writer.  Back in the days at my Catholic high school when Sister Audrey used my poem in Freshman English to demonstrate good writing, I knew I had found a calling.  In later years, college professors scribbled enthusiastic comments on my papers.  One that I still keep today said “You ought to be a writer.”  And so I am, even though it took years to call myself that.  Husband and child, work and family always intervened to occupy my writing time.

I’d flirt with writing throughout the hectic years, enrolling in half-day classes at book stores and libraries.  I’d vow to get serious about my work.  The flirting sometimes led to a real date where I'd take a full-credit  course at the community college and eventually have articles published, plays produced and an e-published book.

But I remained gun-shy of making a full commitment to writing.  Finally, a despised job pushed me to the brink.  Did I want to continue doing something I hated or find something I loved?   It was then I jumped off the cliff and started writing for real. That lasted for a while, but I let the insecurities get the best of me and returned to a full-time job. However, the dream still lives on.

I now write for those times when the words flow effortlessly from me.  I live for those occasions when I nail a scene or devise witty dialogue because they make me feel like I am whole.  I write because it gives me the chance to dream and the opportunity to reach others. Blogging gives me the best of all worlds to keep that dream alive.