My Path to a Career as a Writer

I didn't actually choose to be a writer - at least not consciously. Writing chose me. Writing sunk claws into me and refused to let go. I've felt compelled to express myself through words since childhood. I began by telling stories aloud and graduated to writing them down. I still have some of those early stories in my files. I doubt the public will ever see any of them, but I look at them with a smile from time to time. Using words to express myself, entertain others, and explore life's challenges is as natural to me as breathing.

The first time I told a story, I was around four or five years old. I don't remember the story precisely. It was the first in a series and they've all blended together in my memory. I sat on my Grandpa's knee while the men discussed their farms. Daddy told Grandpa about a groundhog that lived in our barn. Grandpa said he could come down and shoot it. I reached up and grabbed Grandpa's chin. When he looked down at me, I said, with tears in my eyes. "You can't."

Grandpa asked, "Why not?"

I thought for a minutes and said "cause his Mommy would miss him" or something to that effect. Ah, that should do it. Laughter sounded around the table.

Grandpa started asking me questions about him and his family. I answered each question as best I could. He pressed me for details.

Over the next few years, Grandpa would threaten to shoot the groundhog, and I would tell stories about why he couldn't. That groundhog went to school, found a girlfriend, got dumped by his girlfriend, found another one, graduated from high school and later college, got engaged, got married, had kids, bought a motorcycle, lost his job, started a new job, went on vacation, and I don't remember what else. I'm sure the groundhog I never saw was long dead before the stories about him ended.

There was also a black snake that lived in the barn. When Grandpa threatened to kill him, I shrugged. I had no stories to save the snake.

In elementary school, I started writing short stories about my classmates. In most of them, we students had to band together to fight some evil person - sometimes a teacher, other student, or lunchroom worker, group or being. Nowadays those stories would likely raise all kind of alarms among teachers, but I don't remember anyone expressing concerns about my mental health or intentions then.

In junior high school, one of my poems was published in an anthology through a contest I entered.
In high school, my writing focused on the issues of typical teenage angst including drug use, teen pregnancy, and suicide. I wanted to help teens treat one another better as well as get adults and teenagers to understand each other. To be perfectly honest, I also wanted people to like me because my writing showed I understood.
One of my poems won second prize in a writing contest, and essay on conservation tied for first in another contest, and another poem appeared in an anthology related to a contest I'd entered.

Around this same time, I quit pursuing publication. I'm can't remember why.At various times in my life, I pursued other interests, but the desire to write was always there. Two careers that strongly interested me were in law and psychology. Neither had much to do with my upbringing on a farm in a small Kentucky town. My parents managed to somehow both nurture my goals and provide a reality check that they were likely to remain dreams. Careers like writing made nice dreams and even interesting hobbies, but reality was farm work, marriage, and children. Daddy thought I should be a teacher instead of wanting things that were beyond my reach. In reality, I think he wanted me to stay close to home. I can't fault him for that.

So when I started college I tried my best to ignore my drive to write, but there was no way I was going to give up on my other dreams. I worked hard to leave my small hometown. In many ways, I never felt like I belonged there. I studied Corrections & Juvenile Services as well as Psychology because I wanted to help young people who made wrong decisions find their way to productive lives.

Researching and writing papers exhilarated me while my classmates hated them. I'd bury myself in the research and the writing. I'd work on my assignments until the last minute make changes and correcting mistakes before I turned them in. I longed for the freedom to let loose and write the ideas I'd developed instead of reverberating what I'd learned from the books I'd read.

In my Freshman English class, our teacher assigned a weekly writing assignment. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to write, share my work, and not feel weird about it. My teacher often wrote encouraging comments as well as constructive criticism on my papers.

I'd scribble poems in the margins of my class notes to stop the words from distracting me during class. I'd jot down a short story when an idea hit. I'd alternately share my work with friends and deny I wrote. I didn't want people to make fun of me. I couldn't stop the compulsion to put words on paper though especially when my emotions got the better of me. I always felt most alive, most vital, most productive, when putting words on paper yet I heard echoes from my upbringing creating doubt about the viability of writing as a career. At times people made good points about the difficulty of getting work published and publishing enough to make a living. Looking back I realize a lot of it was fear of the unknown.

After I graduated with my Bachelor of Science degree, I worked at a group home for teens. I quickly began to feel disheartened about the system and to doubt if I could make a difference in the field I'd chosen.

Every chance I got, I scribbled poems and story ideas on paper. I still had a schizophrenic relationship with my writing. At times I denied it completely to everyone including myself and at others I fully embraced it. I still wasn't pursuing publication. I simply filed away my writings in nice binders.

I'd become so discouraged about changing the lives of juveniles, I left my job at the group home after about six months.

I considered furthering my education to become either a lawyer or a psychologist. I even prepared to go to law school by studying a list of books recommended for pre-law school students and by taking the LSAT. I was torn between the two disciplines. I'd read books about psychology and feel fascinated by the analysis of human behavior. Then I'd read one about the law and feel equal fascination.

I temped, worked in the office of a cabling company, temped again, and worked in the registrar's office at a university while pursuing attending law school and wondering how I'd ever pay for it if I did. I still struggled with the idea that psychology might be a better fit for me than law.

Eventually, life lead me away from both.The only constant in my career life was writing. I wrote poetry and short stories. Eventually, I tackled a novel. I began to be more open about my writing again and to find support from friends around me.

When my husband got a job offer in Boise, Idaho, I finally told him what I really wanted to do was pursue my writing full time. I finally admitted out loud that it had been my dream since childhood to be a successful author.
For the first time as an adult, I could see the benefits of writing as a full-time career. It was a career that didn't require I go back to school. The two disciplines I was interested in weren't open to me in Boise. I could write anywhere. All I needed was pen, paper, and a typewriter (very soon computer). I could set my own hours. Writing allowed me to research my other two passions and use that research to write works that might influence people's lives. And, even though I'd only had a few successes when I was young, I was naïve enough to think getting paid for my writing would be easy.

At first I alternated between writing like crazy and wasting the whole day. I learned the joys of working out every day. I discovered the time to keep the house clean, organize our belongings, and work on personal projects. I struggled to treat my writing like work. People wanted to talk on the phone. My husband asked me to take care of little things. Friends asked me to help them. I slipped into a habit of convincing myself it was only fair for me to do what was asked of me instead of enforcing that I was working. Writing is solitary work, and it can be very tempting to help friends or have long conversations on the phone to keep from feeling so isolated. Doing chores during the week became the habit because it freed the weekend for my husband and me to do fun things. Still I wrote a lot in those days, and I started submitting work frequently. Rejection slips came frequently, and submissions began to go out less frequently.

When our financial situation got uncomfortable, I temped for a while. Temping also provided an opportunity for me to meet people and to get out of the house.

I wrote two books in a few years, and started submitting them to publishers.Then I decided to take my career in my own hands, and self-published my first novel, All She Ever Wanted, through Xlibris, a print-on-demand company. I learned a lot from the experience, especially about marketing and publicity as well as the publishing industry.

Since then I've won contests and published articles, essays, short stories, and poetry. I've also contributed to two books on marketing books.I enjoy writing, but I still find submitting my work challenging. Sometimes I'll lock myself into a corner trying to decide what piece to submit where. I still struggle to send out piece after piece knowing most pieces will be rejected. It's the nature of the business, but sometimes it's hard to not take it personally.

No matter what I've done in life, what other interests I've pursued, or what jobs I've had, I've always written fiction, poetry, and essays. At different times in my life, I've tried to suppress my desire - my need - to write, but the words relentlessly knock around inside my head until they force me to put them on paper.

And so while I love my career as a writer, I can't say I chose it. Writing grabbed me and held on tight refusing to let go until I accepted it as my career. Each time I put my work out there, I put a piece of myself out to be judged. I am a writer because writing chose me.