The Write Stuff

I can tell you the exact day when I knew I wanted to be a writer. I was in third grade, and we had been writing short stories in class. My story, about a girl named PJ, a tiny Cupid and a solid-gold heart (I was 8, ok?), earned a standing ovation from my classmates as I read it out loud. I had never experienced anything like the mixture of pride, amazement, fulfillment I felt as I stood before my classmates. I felt like I had found my niche—something I was really good at that other people would appreciate. For the remainder of elementary school, I wrote plays, poems, stories and books (several of which live on in a scrapbook my mom returned to me several years ago) which I gladly shared with anyone who would read them. I am going to be a writer.

Sadly, the older I got, the less prolific I became---partly because life simply got too hectic, but mostly because my writing became self-conscious. The glow of applause from appreciative classmates faded into a constant, unspoken fear that I had nothing to say—nothing that anyone else would care to read, anyway. I wrote the occasional short story, and have kept a journal sporadically from high school through adulthood, but I seldom wrote anything I felt was worth sharing. Trying to break out of my shell and follow my childhood dream, I joined a writing group for a short period of time in my late 20s, but never felt like I could get out of my own way long enough to let a story flow, uninhibited, out of me. It didn’t help that I’d always been a voracious reader—with each wonderful novel I enjoyed, my fear of not having a novel in me only grew; I didn’t think I could measure up to any of the authors who were talented enough to get published.

Ironically, I’ve continued, throughout my life, to tell people I want to be a writer…even when I haven’t written anything in months…years. I even included a couple of writing-related challenges in my Forty for 40 list, even though I wasn’t sure I would really follow through on them.

I’m grateful my friend Sue—one of my dear, dear Wells sisters, read my blog and issued a challenge of her own just before 2010 began. You see, Sue also wanted to write as a creative outlet, but also found life getting in the way far too often. So, she proposed, what if we help each other by being writing buddies—sharing our stories and giving each other constructive feedback.

I loved the idea—even though it was scary. After all, if I was accountable to someone other than myself, I’d HAVE to write, right? Someone would be paying attention. Someone would be reading my not-ready-for-the-bookstore stories. Someone would know my dream was still alive in there somewhere.

It took us a little longer than we hoped—procrastinators that we are—but Sue and I just had our first “writing group” phone call this afternoon. I think we surprised ourselves—I know I did, anyway—and we both rediscovered how much we love writing for writing’s sake. It’s wonderful to be taking this journey together—wherever it ends up taking us. I’m already looking forward to our next meeting in a month, and even more important—I’m looking forward to writing more and seeing where the story goes from here.