Big Question

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Why do you want to be a writer?

I started out as a writer at a very young age because people told me I was good at it. I continued after I started to write my own fiction in the fourth grade because it was fun to make up stories and write about them.

I lost the thread to writing in the eighth grade when I was placed on heavy medication for uncontrolled seizures. Became suicidal on top of wallowing in natural teen drama and lost the ability to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I went off the meds a year after graduating, but still had to wade through the aftermath of severe emotional and sexual abuse and losing family. Developed an anxiety disorder and fought for years to overcome it enough to start interacting with society again. Spent nearly a decade flailing through life digging myself in so deep that I’m still working on climbing out.

I tried to hold onto writing during all this because it had defined me since the second grade. My entire family knew me as the writing/Melissa Etheridge girl, and I always got journals and pens for Christmas. But I couldn’t do it, and all I felt was failure. This great comfort and joy I felt as a child was now painful to fight through.

So about a year ago I took out the brain space and really got down to asking myself why I was fighting so hard to be a writer again. I was in a safe place and under my own power for the first time in my life, but it still wasn’t coming to me as naturally as it did. I already had to accept some hard facts about the new person I had to become after the struggle, things I had to let go of for the greater good. Was writing one of the things I should give up too?

I played around with jewelry making, drawing, painting, even stained glass. All of which I can hold my own in, but none of them really made me want to challenge myself to be better at it. I loved messing around and seeing what happened, but for every decent thing I made there were a dozen I bunched up and tossed as unsalvageable.

All the while the movies are still playing in my head, every time I listen to music or even when my mind has enough quiet space to wander, my guys are there still alive and playing around. Visions and stories I love as much as my favorite books and movies. I desperately want to bring them to the real world, to experience them as a reader does or see them like actors on the screen.

I am the only outlet they have into the real world, and the strongest tool I have is my writing. That is why I am still fighting the blank page. I won’t lie, a big part of me wants to be famous and known for bringing an awesome story into the world. But far beyond that, I just want to tell my story because I love it more than anything. And I gotta figure that if someone as dispassionate as me loves as strongly as this, then maybe someone out there will love it too.

Why are you writing? Let me know below or check me out at Where’s Andie.

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