For as long as I can remember I’ve been a writer.
But that sounds cheesy as fuck so let’s move on.
I began writing before I knew how to make letters. I absolutely loved books and when I was very young my mom started reading the Harry Potter series to me and my brother. While she read to us, I would hold a little notebook on my lap and scribble, pretending I was writing stories about the characters. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that I realized I was essentially trying to write fan fiction before it was cool (clearly a trendsetter).
Eventually I learned how to actually write words and from there on out I was always in the middle of a project, but never finishing one. It was my dream to be a bestselling author and I wrote constantly but never consistently. Switching from one WIP to another was way more fun than sticking with one til completion. I was completely self aware though. I knew I didn’t have the discipline to write for a living and it didn’t look like I was going to develop it anytime soon. That was always kind of my excuse for fear. I was afraid of writing. Family told me it wouldn’t work, I could never make money off of it. So I would stop until the passion hit again and I would powerwrite for a while.
When I started high school I was determined to make writing work. I joined my school’s newspaper and literary magazine. I wrote poetry and got it published in the magazine. I attended every meeting. I learned I absolutely despised journalism (interviewing and social anxiety don’t go so well together). I spent my mornings, lunches, and study halls in the library writing. I was actually consistently focused on one project and my Spanish teacher/study hall supervisor was a huge support of it. She always wrote me passes to the library so I could work. I reached 50,000 words for the first time and hit a high I had never felt before. I even read a couple pieces out loud during my school’s “Writer’s Week”, something that was a huge fuck you to my anxiety.
But eventually, family, school, grades all took over. Again, I have pretty severe anxiety, particularly of the social variety, so standing up for myself wasn’t exactly easy. My grandma talked to me about writing on the side and having a day job. She wanted me to be a speech pathologist. Which to this day is still hilarious to me. I have a small lisp and grew up in speech until I was 13, eventually transferring from school to private services. But, sure Grandma, I can help people say words.
But it did get me thinking. And so did everyone at school. Suddenly high school became about finding a career that would pay well. Something I could do in college. Something that would push me quickly through the rest of my life. I felt so much pressure to pick something.
I had been in Best Buddies for years and had a ton of friends with disabilities. For anyone who doesn’t know, Best Buddies is a program that pairs people with people with disabilities and you basically do friendship stuff. It’s a fun time. I also spent a ton of time on YouTube watching videos about different disabilities. One day I was watching one about a girl with Down Syndrome and her occupational therapist came over. It looked like play to me and that was appealing as fuck. So I researched for a bit before running downstairs to tell my mom that I was going to be an occupational therapist. The next week I started observations and from there on out that was the dream I was working toward. Writing was forgotten. But not by me.
Freshman year of college I started a new project but didn’t tell anyone. I kept writing lowkey for a long time, partially for my own sanity. When I would think about it, I felt like I failed myself. Writers didn’t go into other fields. Writers didn’t give in to what everyone else wanted for the sake of money and security. These are the things that would run through my mind on a daily basis. I remember crying a few times about it, fearing that my dream was over. My mental health hadn’t been good for a while and this definitely didn’t help. I felt like I’d lost my purpose.
Don’t get me wrong. I love OT, I’m in OT school now. But there’s always that little part of me that wonders what life would be like if I had dedicated myself fully to writing.
I graduated from undergrad a year early. My whole first semester of my junior/senior year was spent trying to pass anatomy and applying to OT school. I didn’t stop to think. I just powered through. Life felt meaningless and pointless and I just wanted to get through it as fast as I could.
I was living with my best friend, Colleen, who was slowly introducing me to booktube. I was trying to get back into reading more. Another friend lent me a book over winter break and I DEVOURED it. From there I read around 3 books a week for the rest of break and went back to reading consistently. One night Colleen mentioned to me that she wished there was a book about an asexual girl who had a dragon. I said I would write a short story for her and then she went to rehearsal. Hours later she came back and I had plotted an entire novel.
That last semester of undergrad I had two classes and an internship. I was basically working a day job and coming home each night to write. Some nights I wrote upwards of 10,000 words. And I felt good. Which was something I hadn’t been able to say for a long time. I was going to finish a project for the first time in my life. I had gotten into one grad school and accepted, but I was starting to wonder why I had done any of the last 3 years. I started to develop a plan. Take a gap year. Finish my book. Maybe grad school would never have to happen. Maybe life would just go the way I planned. But when I told my mom all about my plan, suffice to say it didn’t go over well.
To avoid going into my deep personal trauma (lol) I’ll summarize that summer the best I can. There was a lot of crying, a little writing, and a lot of fear. It all ended with me moving into an apartment and, fairly reluctantly, starting grad school August 2018.
But I finished my first draft. The first first draft I ever finished. I remember printing it all out and just staring at it before shoving it away for months, not wanting to look at it. Partially the Stephen King method, partially just being completely over it.
But I picked it up a few months ago and started replotting for my second draft. I’m mostly a pantser so this whole plotting thing hasn’t been my favorite despite being completely necessary.
Grad school is going well, but finding time to write while keeping my sanity has been interesting. Writing is insanely good for my mental health. The more I write, the more I focus on something that means that much to me, the better I feel. A lot of changes have happened in my life recently and having these characters and this story to go back to has been so important. So here I am, working on my second draft, blogging, tweeting, actually really trying to have the life I thought I would.
Tell me about your writing journey! I would love to hear how other people got here!
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