I WANT TO BE A WRITER.
It hit me all of a sudden. Like a lightbulb shining brightly over my head. It hit me after reading a shitty but free kindle book. I wasted away my days devouring pointless words just to reach an ending I knew would come, and as I was about to hunt for a new read to replace the crap I just read, I said to myself “Even I could write something better than that.”It’s always been a little secret dream of mine since I was a teenager, actually seventh grade to be exact. The teacher assigned us to write our own future obituary. I wrote that I graduated from college with a degree in English literature and became a New York Times bestselling author. None of those things happened. Instead, life ran its course and me, well I got pregnant at sixteen became a high school drop out, no career, today a stay at home mom of three. And now self-doubt has weaseled its way into my bright light dulling its glow.
WHAT THE HELL DO I KNOW!
What the hell do I know about writing a story, using punctuations and how would I even start? I still don’t know the answer to any of these questions but thank you baby Jesus for Grammarly. Oh but I want this so bad! That light was everything I forgot I could still have, maybe. For so many years, all day, every day I worry about everyone else. I support my husband in all of his dream, his wants. I cheer my oldest daughter in whatever short-lived sport she has us dump money into until she decides she wants to quit. In another life where money wasn’t an issue, I would totally be that mom that forces her to go because she committed to it. But this mom is broke doesn’t have it like that and if she doesn’t want us to waste the money anymore, well you don’t have to tell me twice. Back to me being the best mom ever. I became everything everyone needed and pushed some of the things I might have wanted to the back. I absolutely love being a mom and I love being a wife. I have no idea what else I would do. I was a dental assistant for a few years only because it paid over minimum wage before that I worked at the produce department for the local grocery store because they were the first ones to call me back after applying for a job everywhere else.
WRITING, being a writer, an AUTHOR, that would be a dream.
I love reading. I can read two books, clean the house, cook a meal, help with homework and get the kids ready for bed in one day. True story. So I decided after that shitty story and a bunch of google searches about if I really needed to be college educated to write a novel and sell it, that I’m doing this. I AM DOING IT! Maybe I’m a late bloomer in life but I have come to this realization and you know what I’m at least going to try. I’ve been working on this story that came to my mind somehow, and I’m going with it. It could be shit, it could be fucking great, probably not so don’t get your hopes up but at least I’m trying. Me, the teen statistic, pregnant at sixteen, mom of three, who is happy in her messy home and loud kids while husband shouts at his video games. Wish me luck and join me on this journey as I follow my heart and become something I had no idea I could still be.
I WILL BE A WRITER. I WILL BE AN AUTHOR.