
I told you a little about my personal story
last week.
This week, I'm going to tell you just a
little more so you can understand identity.
For some of us, writing is not just a verb,
which is something we do. For a very few of us it's a noun—a thing—an
identity we must embrace.
Wide-eyed and wonder-filled
As far as I can remember, stories and poetry
have always lived inside of me. The moment I learned how to release words
on the page, I did.
At the ready age of 9 or 10 I was actually
writing, illustrating and binding my own children's books out of printer paper
and manila folders. And I still have those books somewhere...
I also still have stacks of spiral notebooks
of poetry—horrible, simplistic poetry—from the heart of child who thought the
world revolved around rhymes and roses.
Not that rhyming or rose poems are bad.
During my teen years, the only thing I knew
for certain was that I had to keep writing no matter what. I didn't know
any other way to express myself or my creativity.
And write I did despite the fact that no one
understood me. Writing released my emotions in such a positive way
counseling never could.
Reality packs a punch
Then I stepped into grown-up world of
pursuing a career in college. Reality hit me like a hard punch in the
gut.
The harsh voice in my head insisted that I
put away childhood fantasies and look logic dead in the face.
Sadly, towards the end of college life, I
chose practical over passion.
It wasn't an easy choice. However,
teaching guaranteed the rent would be paid.
When college life came to a close, so did my
outlet. So did my dream.
Even still, for years, I continued to write
here and there just for fun. However, I was writing less and less.
Gradually, the words diminished as did my motivation to release them on
the page.

Eventually, I buried my talent in the
ground. For twelve years.
Then there was nothing but struggling and
silence.
Something was missing
My biggest problem was that I was not fully
embracing who I was meant to be—my identity as a writer. I didn’t
know my full purpose in life. I excused myself from my calling due
to my other daily obligations—school work , job, family.
Because I knew something was missing, I searched for ways to fill the void. I volunteered at church, changed careers several times, and even started a family. Even though many of these things brought me joy, still something wasn’t quite right.
Embracing my identity
After shelving my dream for so many years, I
finally turned a corner.
I discovered a conference called the Blue
Ridge Mountains Christian Writers' Conference. A conference is like going
to a really intense school for a few days to learn about writing and connect with
other writers, agents, and editors.
I had also read a book that confirmed who I
was as a writer: Story Trumps Structure by Steven James, my all
time writing hero.
As soon as I began connecting with other
writers like me and learning to improve my craft, something happened.

The dam burst.
A geyser of dormant ideas laced with passion
blew open. Stories started dancing within me. Poetry began
singing to me in quiet times of reflection. Words demanded to be
released. Daily.
Recently, I’ve made a choice, promising myself that
despite the cost, I will never, ever look back.
Now I’m running with it because I am a
writer.
Because of my experience, I am here to help you find it and embrace it as well.
It’s your turn
Tell me below a little bit about yourself.
How do you feel about yourself as a
writer? What do you like to write? Who are your writing heroes
(favorite authors)? What is your biggest writing dream?

Something was missing
Because I knew something was missing, I searched for ways to fill the void. I volunteered at church, changed careers several times, and even started a family. Even though many of these things brought me joy, still something wasn’t quite right.

Because of my experience, I am here to help you find it and embrace it as well.
It’s your turn
Tell me below a little bit about yourself.