Do you remember when you first decided to be a writer? For me it wasn’t until much later in life than some. I wasn’t the odd kid in school that wrote tragic poetry. I didn’t keep a journal of the teenage romances I had, or wished I had. For me I started as a way to keep memories for my daughter. She was four, maybe five when I wrote and illustrated my first attempt at a book. I use the term book and illustrated very loosely. Meaning I did write it, and I did draw the pictures, but it was on a note pad with stick figures for people. None of that mattered. I created my first story. Looking back to that first little book, the ideas of my writing remain the same, as do the stick figures. What has changed is the content.
I am under the belief that anyone, should they take the time, can write a story. Stories are many times something created out of memories, or everyday things we come across in life. Sometimes they are funny, other times they are to serve a purpose. But every one of us has a story. My first story is of no significance to anyone other than my family. No one else would see the humor, or reason behind it. That doesn’t make it any less of a story. But I wrote it. Me! Not some big name author. Just me. And that’s when the magic happened. Soon there was another book, and then more stories to follow. Soon my head was swimming with ideas. And now look at me. You still don’t know me, or read any books I have published. You don’t know of the countless hours I’ve spent tapping away on the keys bringing my imagination to life. But that’s okay, because I’m still writing.
For all the writers out there, we should all take time to write our stories. Even share them if you like. It’s what makes us who we are. Let the rest of the world go on doing what they do, because you and I, we will keep writing. We will keep dreaming. We will still be the voice of imagination and creation. Fight for yourself, and fight for the story I know is inside you.