When I was a little girl, if you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have told you either a secretary (wow, I had high ambitions... the feminism movement never really arrived at my house) or an author. Sometimes I might have said teacher, but that was only when I had a teacher who actually liked me (Third Grade Teacher Whom I Still Loathe, I'm looking at you.)
Anyway, all through my childhood, I loved to write. I wrote short stories all the time. When I got to middle school, I was quite sure I was going to write for National Geographic as an adult, and I even wrote to one of their contributing authors for help on how to do what he was doing, and I actually got a response! It was gracious and kind and full of information that I took to heart. When I got to high school, I took a 'class' that found internships for students at various companies around town, and I managed to get myself on board at the local newspaper. From there, I was hired as the lifestyles reporter/editor (editor meaning I laid out pages and worked on special sections, not that I actually edited work from underlings... I WAS the underling.)
But... life has a funny way of changing your plans for you. Shortly before I got pregnant with M1, I quit the newspaper job. I was offered another one, but it involved a lot of traveling in the area as well as being primarily evening-based, and I wasn't particularly interested in never seeing my husband. A couple months after I discovered I was pregnant, I had to drop a journalism class because A) I was too sick to function and B) the teacher was highly regarded but fairly ignorant and didn't seem to comprehend how a newspaper really worked. (For example, an obituary contains all information that is submitted as long as it meets the guidelines, and you certainly don't edit out names!)
Since then, I haven't progressed one iota toward my goal of being a writer. Sure, I write this blog, and I even did NaNoWriMo a couple years ago, but as for having work published independently? Hasn't happened.
Lately, though, I've discovered my typing fingers still work, and my brain is still churning out ideas. A woman from a forum that I visit has recently begun a new inclusive homeschooling blog, and I've been accepted as a regular contributor (go leave a comment or two!). So that's positive. Then a couple days ago, my brain generated a couple of characters for a book, and they haven't shut up since. So I'm performing my own little NaNoWriMo in the wrong month. The kids asked me this morning what I'm writing this story for, and I had to tell them that I'm just writing it to get it out of my head.
It feels good to write. It feels good to let the words flow out the ends of my fingers to be shared. It feels good to have a writing groove and deadlines, even if they are just personal ones. It reminds me just how much I enjoy writing for others as well as myself.
And that, my friends, is a thing worth (re)discovering.
Have a great weekend, wherever you are!