For as long as I can remember I have loved to write. As a little girl I imagined myself much like Jo March; running a school, writing beautiful letters, and falling in love. I journaled endlessly and wrote my fair share of poetry and limericks.
When I got to college it was only natural that I would major major in English. Reading and writing were not just strengths of mine, but parts of me, passions which I couldn’t deny. I remember interviewing for my college newspaper and telling the editor that I believed the written word separated us from the rest of the Animal Kingdom. That’s how passionately I felt about literature.
As the years passed and my college career continued, I excelled. Term papers and thesis papers alike came easily to me. In fact, I enjoyed writing them. I loved the thrill of receiving the grades papers back, adorned with As on top. The Summer of my Senior Year I completed a thesis paper and was recommended for a research grant. Very pregnant with my first child, I was unable to accept the grant.
After graduation my writing tapered off. I was a new mom and a wife and had a bounty of new responsibilities.
Over the past year though my writing has picked back up. My baby is a baby no more, and I am finding myself with much more time on my hands. My family and myself have recently relocated to a wonderfully inspirational place to live. This magical place has sparked my love of writing once again! Within six months of living here my work was featured on a very well known online blog and over the last year I’ve grown a wordpress following of over 150, with more than 1,500 likes on my page. Just this past week I was once again published in an online publication.
So why do I write? For the recognition? For the possibility of potentially making money? No. Instead, I write because it makes me feel alive. To share my deepest thoughts and feelings makes me feel as if my soul, which had been sleeping for so long, has been awoken.