When Oprah still had a daytime talk show, I would tell my friends that one day I was going to be the author of one of her Book Club selections.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve loved reading and writing.
In the beginning (back in my middle school days), I mainly wrote poems. Then I started journaling and eventually I moved on to short stories and essays. Writing was an outlet that got me through a lot of hard, lonely days. Writing helped me figure out who I am.
I used to write constantly. Some of the time it may have only been a paragraph or two that were just ramblings but they were mine. I put pen to paper and made those ramblings happen.
When I’m really focused, I can turn out some pretty decent pieces of work. But, when I’m tired and stressed, it’s hard to be focused. This has been a hard school year and I’ve let work impact other aspects of my life including my writing.
Recently, I’ve finally come to the realization that I can’t let work define me. There are other parts of my life that are important and need to be nurtured.
I want to write. Stressed or not, I need to pick up one of my many pens everyday and write. What I write may not make it to the New York Times Best Sellers list but I’m still going to write it.
I have a voice and it needs to be heard...even if only one person hears it.
I’m putting down the excuses and picking up my pen.