Stopping writing is like asking me to stop breathing. It won't happen until I die.
Writing is my medicine. Rejuvenating to my soul and enlivening to my heart. My heart skips a bit faster when I know a sentence flows well.
How did I know writing was my calling? It took some time. Six years or so to be approximately exact.
I failed first grade spelling. I pretended to read the small booklets they gave us in order to advance to the next, more complicated books. So to say I would become a writer is laughable.
My eighth grade teacher guided us in a creative writing assignment. A short fable. Mine was exuberant in its overuse of hyperboles and metaphors. A haunted mansion. This was when I learned to love writing.
Pretty sure if I would've guessed what I would be when I was "grown up" I would've wanted to be just like my older brother. A Real Estate Agent and dreamer. Fun. Adventurous. Dangerous. Instead of flipping houses for fun, I turn words into catchphrases. Sort of the same...except not at all. How many of us learn over time our own unique gifts and live into them?
Nowadays, instead of dreading corrections, I implore editors to scribble more. Cover the black ink with the blazing rose, red pen.
Through trial and error. Lots of errors. I ended up here. Getting paid for my first freelance work as a writer. Pursuing my dream as a full-time writer and collaborator.