Writing has been a dream of mine since the sixth grade. I had this weird little passion inside me that manifested itself through non-fiction stories about manatees and dissertations on the “true meaning of Christmas” based on the popular seasonal Charlie Brown special. Every word was hand written; pages and pages. My Language Arts teacher (that’s fancy public school jargon for “English class”) encouraged this stoking fire by reading my written-for-fun manuscripts and keeping my class writing folder until I was well into high school. He always said I would be a writer and held on to that folder as proof of the talent that he saw in my twelve year old self.
Fast forward about twenty years … I am not a writer by profession. However, that same passion still kindles inside me at thirty four as it did at twelve. I feel the urge to write, to share, to tell a story and encourage others to THINK.
I feel I am destined for a more creative life than the one I live behind my cubicle walls. Sitting in that chair is a twelve year old girl burning to share her words with the world.