In Poets and Writers, a magazine publication I used to get (can't afford them all and don't have time to read them all anymore...) there was a monthly post entitled "Why We Write" in which people sent in the joys of putting words on the paper. I always wondered what I might say if I was to send in my story. I think it'd go something like this:
I married in the year 2000 to a solider stationed at Ft. Stewart, GA. His schedule was hectic and I spent a lot of time alone. I taught health at the local middle school because they didn't have dance and a job I still needed. I spent my days talking about bodily systems to giggling boys and girls, and my nights watching television - a mindless activity of which I can now barely stand to do. A book fair at school caught my attention and I wandered through the rows of literature suddenly awe struck at this world I'd ignored for so long. I bought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I opened the pages to the magical world inside and while losing myself in Hogwart's castle, I lost myself in language along the way. I had to have the next book and the next and so on and so forth. I began searching for stories that captured my attention and unpacked boxes of books from my high school and college years that I'd barely skimmed, mostly because the Cliff's Notes companion sat right next to them. I re-read every classic and for the first time, I heard them. Their life, their voice, their character - the fear in Boo Radley's steps as he ventures out of his home, the trepidation of Odysseus when making choices amidst the Cyclops, Mr. Darcy's love for Elizabeth Bennet, Snowball's anger in Animal Farm; every emotion welling up in me as if I'd been dead, a corpse wandering the streets sated in a world of boredom now coming back to life hungry. Shakespeare - oh Shakespeare, how had I not loved you all this time?
Dancing became something I used to do, a past time of my younger days - this choice was not for lack of desire, but for lack of time because in 2003 I become a mother; a mother determined to not let the world of fiction slip through her son's hands. But, even in my fictional world and my happy life, the creative drive still bubbled inside me. Dancing used to quell its flame, but that was no longer a choice. I asked myself what brings me the most pleasure? Reading. So, why not try my hand at writing? And so I did.
My own work remains "in-progress" it seems.
I hope you'll stop by often!