I’ve been writing or writing down story ideas since High School. I had quite a collection of ideas and short snippets, that if you were to ask me now what they were, I seriously couldn’t tell you.
Well when I was 18 I had an opportunity to go to Virginia and I went. Now I was a bit of a pack, still am. When I came back home after two months, I found out to my absolute horror, my mother threw out all of my writing. I was so angry!
She seriously took it upon herself to “clean” my room. What it actually was roomicide! I think I hated my mother at that moment, for not believing in my dreams. I have not thought about this incident for in like forever, but it just came back to me.
But the reason for the epiphany is that I had a funny idea for a story I was working out in my head, when I told my boys’ about it (very enthusiastically too) they both shot me down quicker than anything.
Some of their commentary?
“Wow that sucks.” “Nobodies gonna read that.” “Its better we say this than complete strangers.”
I was so hurt! I was excited and they shot me down. And that is when I realized I let my family get into my head and let my writing suffer. But no more. I want to cry at the wasted years.
While I’ve done most of my writing while I went school for an English major from 2003-2006, I still just kind of was waiting for someone to say “good girl”, “you can do it”, “we believe in you.” Guess what?
I believe in me.
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