Yes, I am a writer. I am also a mother of four teenagers, one of whom is autistic. I am a wife. I am a friend. I am a sister, cousin, daughter. Of course between these descriptions, lie the details of my life. I won’t bore you with all those details but give just enough to illuminate how I’ve come to decide I am a writer.
My parents and I were at a family reunion in Oklahoma one year when I was about 10 years old. One evening, there was a big family dinner in a hall. The facilitator of the dinner went around the room and asked all the kids “what do you want to be when you grow up?” When it came to my turn I said “I want to be a writer.” That was the first time I had ever mentioned such thoughts. Had I taken myself seriously, I might have remained diligent in becoming one. But as the years went by with some successes but many disappointments, that dream vaporized. I would get married, have kids, eventually become a high school English teacher.
Teaching offered several things. It taught me to become more organized. I learned to confront personal issues (150 kids a day tests your self-perception- you need to have self-assurance.) There was the fulfillment of making a difference in a kid’s life. Among these things and others, it gave me a platform to share stories with my students. I began to remember that evening in Oklahoma again. I wrote poems, read them, had the kids write their own poems, (unless I told them a title, theirs was about love).
Fast forward to this year. My husband told me, “You need to write. You should quit your job.” I thought about this for oh, a minute, and said “Fine, you are right.” So here we are. I have plunged into this. Crazy to some – the world economy is turned upside down; distrust, scepticism abounds in the universe. But living honestly is part of the legacy I want to leave for my kids. I honestly believe God has given me a purpose to share my words because they matter.