Always want to be a writer?

I didn’t always want to be a writer. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I was a child but being a writer wasn’t something that came to mind. That came later. That came much later after I left high school and I wrote in journals to vent frustration. When my notebook was open I had something to say about the sorrows and joys I was experiencing. It didn’t matter that no one would read them, they were mine and that was just fine with me. I sit here and wonder what changed that those simple words I wrote to myself became something I wanted to share. Was it a single moment where I thought my words mattered and I wanted to write for a living; letting the world know my words and tell them it mattered? I think it came over a series of moments. Periods in my life where all I had were the words I wrote on cheap notebooks and pretty journals. Periods where the love I had in those pages transformed into something great and passionate; something that I slowly saw that could be used and not suppressed in books collecting dust. I still have all those notebooks but I cannot reach them, they sit in the attic of my father’s house and truthfully, I miss them. To look back on them, see how I have changed and how my writing has changed. I might ask him to send them to me. Maybe I don’t need them any more as I have grown into something better than I thought I would be back then. The notebooks I do have with me I rarely look at; only on occasion to look back on a particular moment for writing or because a conversation brought that subject up. Should I look back? So many questions I ask myself and often I find the answers but in places I didn’t think to look at first. They can come from me in time but they also come from those I love and still they come from places I never looked at before. Given the opportunity to write for someone I now know I want to do. I am a writer; I just never expected to get the opportunity. I applied to write for a company, submitted works of my own to show my ability and didn’t think much on it after. I submitted it and was done. I didn’t dwell too much; I didn’t even tell my partner until I got the acceptance letter. Shows how much I thought about it I guess. I was accepted! Someone thought the samples I sent were good enough to take a chance on me and the words I had to say. That feeling is irreplaceable and indescribable. The opportunity is something I can grow from. Does the person who accepted me realize the gift they have given me? Maybe not but I am eternally grateful to them. I am a writer and someone saw that. There is something else. I was given a gift certificate from the company I write for. It was a contest I wasn’t aware of and I won. It was on using a particular tool we can use to promote ourselves and the company. I apparently used it and was successful in it enough to be given this. So I bought two writing books with it to better my writing skills. If I can use those books bought by them to better my writing for me as well as the company I write for then that’s what I should use it for. And all this is for a girl who never thought to be a writer when she was a child? For someone who uses words daily, I haven’t the words to express what all this feels like, what all this means to me.

Needing

I need to be able to express what weighs down my heart and mind. There must be a way for there to be openness, a means to accept the words I give you as my own and not an attack on anything. Simply accept them. Yet with this plea there lays doubt. Doubt that what I have to bare you will take to heart and judge me for it. Attack the emotions and thoughts I have and ignore that I simply mean to express. I love you, no matter what has been or will be I love you. There have been periods in our relationship where we have been mother-daughter, friends, sisters and enemies. We have tried to pour it all out and at times succeeded while other times failed. I am desperate to find a balance to share with you as you have shared with me but I am scared. Afraid that you won’t hear me; afraid you will banish them as rambles or worse yet belittle them until I feel I have wronged you. I write all this in some attempt to rationalize our rocky periods and find peace when life was beautiful, I write all this in some form of preparation to the real words I am about to write. Whether it works or not remains to e seen and probably won’t show until after you have read this. I do not nor have I made light of our relationship and what has gone on. On the contrary I have held it all dear and close. Sometimes too close but that is my own doing. I have taken and learned the lessons taught me and taken the experiences given me and made them character builders, good or bad. I have taken it all and loved you all the same. At times hating you, angered or hurt by you and other times cherishing you. Cherishing you for who you are, what you have gone through and have achieved. With all this there are times where I feel I still don’t understand you. I feel as though I am a child desperately trying to grasp onto the world around me. Maybe none of this is any attempt or preparation but only a means to stall what I really mean to ask and say.