I’m a Writer, and a Writer Must Write

I’m a writer. I have a day job as a community action warrior where I’m instrumental in helping low income folks live a better life. I’m proud of my work with my agency. I’ve seen a significant improvement in the quality of life for many of my clients. I’m honored to work in such a field, but deep down inside I’m a writer. A writer must write.

I’ve always had a vivid imagination. When I was a child, I made up elaborate stories for my dolls who had careers, children, working farms, divorces, cars that broke down, pets, and hobbies. One of my dolls was President of the United States. Like I said, my dolls had careers. Two small flower vases served as my antagonists. They were everything from evil step-mothers to prime ministers. The irony that I grew up and became a step-mother to two kids who usually thought I was evil isn’t lost on me.

I began actually writing things down when I was 12 years old. My life was in turmoil due to familial developments and all of the problems that accompanied them. One of my 7th grade teachers suggested I keep a journal or write about my troubles in some other way. I was never consistent with my journaling, but I poured my soul into my poetry. Once my feelings were put into words on the page, they no longer haunted me.

I began writing short stories in high school and discovered my passion for prose. Writing without the restrictions of rhyme and meter set my imagination free. I wrote about everything from dealing with social issues to flying a space ship. I didn’t realize that writing was my true calling, I just knew it made me feel better. As I grew older, my imagination progressed from the adventures of my dolls to stories of new love, runaway livestock, dragons, ghosts, werewolves, starving artists, and stalkers.

I have written several nonfiction pieces, as well. Those are usually the most cathartic for me. I wrote one nonfiction narrative about a time when I colored the back of my chair in kindergarten and was subsequently punished by my teacher. She used it as a life lesson, which has stayed with me since the tender age of five. I never defaced school property again.

I often have vivid dreams. My husband says that he never remembers his dreams and can’t believe that I can tell him about mine in great detail. The explanation is simple. I’m a story teller. My mind never shuts down. It tells me stories all night while I sleep. Sometimes I work my dreams into my writing, and the result is usually among my best work.

I write because I can’t stop telling stories. I must write. I don’t feel like myself if I go for an extended period of time without putting my words on paper. I write for my own mental stability and well-being. I write because the plots in my head are too good to keep to myself. I want to share my stories with the world and bring some color into a dull day. I want to make someone smile. I’m a writer. That’s what I do. Thank you for reading Ozarks Maven! If you’ve enjoyed my little seeds of wisdom and joy, please subscribe to Ozarks Maven, Like Ozarks Maven on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter @OzarksMaven.

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