I didn’t know how to socialize well. It was just easier to create worlds of my own where I was cool and heroic. Before I could even write well I was making up stories with my toy cars. Back then there were no toy spaceships so I used hairbrushes, building blocks, and my harmonica. At night I told myself stories in bed. With no props, my imagination grew.

Later in childhood, I sat at my desk with a pen and notebook. The story I’d made up the night before was so entertaining that I wanted to write it down. After 9 handwritten pages I had my first real story. I drew pictures for it and showed it to anyone who would look at it. I’d become a writer.

So while the cool kids did whatever they did, I sat at my desk and wrote more. They may have been cool, but I was a writer. In high school, a friend gave me an idea which I turned into a 96-handwritten-page story with 2 drafts.

For me, writing is more than an escape. It defines me. I’ve made some bad choices in life and living with them has put me in occasional hard times. But I can work my custodial job with the joy of my writing churning in my head.

I now have the 6th draft of a novel and I’m ready to query. Published or not, writing it was what makes me who I am.

https://roadwalkermedia.wordpress.com/

 

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