Yesterday marked my
anniversary of blogging. I had no idea it had been such a long time!
It also marked the anniversary of my return to
I have always loved to write.
In an old worn out binder I have a collection of poems I wrote at the age of 7. Apparantly at that age I was fascinated with repetition. The poem that sat on the fridge the longest – or somewhere anyway – went like this:
I had a little pony that could hop hop hop
I had a little pony that could run run run
I had a pony that could walk walk walk
And on the way I said Stop, Stop, Stop!
Not exactly a masterpiece – but the writing bug bit.
Around the time I turned 11, my mom and I were bashing about Oregon and I wrote a lengthy poem about my stuffed animals Randy Raccoon and Olivia Octopus (I think it was Olivia Octupus anyway – or was it Ollie?) and all the adventures they had. But that seems to have lost itself over the years.
In middle school I wound up with the most amazing teacher ever for Language Arts, Ms. Mac. She was hard, but she was awesome. She was the first one, besides my parents of course, who pushed and encouraged me in writing.
One creative writing assignment after another flew at me and I gobbled them up. At the time I fancied myself a bit of an artist and so illustrated most of my stories. I still have copies of them. They make me chuckle now and my kids will get a kick out of them.
Dad let me type a number of them up on the old typwriter. I felt SO important being able to use a typewriter for my stories. Of course, when Dad didn’t need the computer, I used that too. At the time, though, I liked the click click click of the typwriter – and it made me feel very “Jessica Fletcher” esque (Murder She Wrote was one of my Grandma’s and Mom’s favorite shows).
In highschool I wrote more poetry than I did stories, though I wrote a few here and there. Usually I was too consumed with the next research paper and reading book after book after book.
My guilty pleasure of college was a creative writing class and I still remember the shocked feeling when my teacher thought my writing was good.
After college came a mission and family and writing sort of slipped away.
Until six years ago when a group of Ricks College friends co-erced me into blogging. It was SO fun. We all blogged pretty much every day then, and I met a number of new amazing friends too – some I’ve met in person and some I have yet to meet.
The more I wrote, the more I remembered my love of it. I started with poems – they were short and easy to accomplish. A book sounded so daunting. I had never written anything longer than a short children’s story.
But, everywhere I went in the writing community I kept hearing about NaNoWriMo. What was that?? I found out it stood for National Novel Writing Month. 50k words in a month sounded like A LOT, but in 2007 I decided to try it. Who knew, maybe I’d find out I could write a book like I wanted to after all.
Well, I wrote a book, and two more since then. They’re not published, but I’m querying. My rejection pile is stacking up nicely. Most of the time I don’t care about the rejections- it’s the writing I love, being published would be a fun added bonus. Ok, it would be downright amazing, but I never started writing to be published. In fact, I never thought it possible and had no intention of even trying until some friends convinced me otherwise. It’s been a great learning experience along the way.
So, NaNoWriMo is here again and I’m writing another book. I’m editing my old book too though, so I don’t know if I’ll make the 50K this time around.
I have to give a huge
to my parents, teachers and friends through the years who kept me going and got me started again. And most of all to my husband for his never ending support and being my biggest cheerleader and fan. You guys are all awesome.