Post by kd on Jan 26, 2009 22:36:29 GMT -6
I don’t know if there is an exact time that a person becomes a writer. It is a process, like becoming an adult. It starts when you learn your ABCs, perhaps even before then. I expect you can call yourself a professional writer when you are able to make a living at it.
I’ve always been writer, as far back as I can remember. I used to write poetry on my book covers at school. Even though I hated spelling, I really didn’t mind English. I reveled in the assignments that made me use my imagination.
Imagination and observation are necessary talents to any writer. Even before I had ever set foot in a classroom I used these talents to entertain my family. When I was young, we would travel a lot. Before the invention of handheld video games, four children in the back of a station wagon would have to find ways to entertain themselves.
We played a game called T.V. I would act out a television program and when one of my brothers or sister would reach out to change the channel, (we didn’t have remotes then either) I would immediately switch to a different program. Sometimes I was the news, and then I would be a dramatic move, or a cartoon.
I probably enjoyed the game more than my brothers and sister did. For years I thought I wanted to be an actress. When I had my first child, I realized that the time and sacrifice necessary for a successful acting career would get in the way of my family life.
I didn’t consider the idea of being a professional writer until many years later. Even then it was a ghost dream that would fade in and out of my life. I would get all worked up about an idea, write a story or poem, send it off, get a rejection, and then give up for a few years. I would go on with my life as if I were just ordinary until the desire to solidify my ideas into something concrete became so overwhelming that I could no longer ignore it, and then the process would cycle all over again.
Through each of theses cycles I would learn a little more about the writing process, the publishing world, and the overall business of writing. I would also become more and more ensnared by the idea of becoming a professional writer.
Part of the problem that I would run into, besides hating rejection, was that I had so many ideas that I often did not know where to start or once I did start I would easily become distracted by a new project or the slightest resistance. I realize now that I had a lot of personal growing to go through before I was strong enough to accept such a arduous calling.
I had been able to complete a few short stories and poems, but I never got past a few chapters on a book until I asked a friend for help. I gave her a list of ten book ideas and asked her which one she thought I should write first. Her choice freed me up to concentrate all my efforts on the one project.
Since I was working full time and had a family to take care of I would glean any spare moment to work on my first novel. It took over two years to finish the rough draft.
The really great thing that happened during that time is that my family began to look at me as a writer. It’s one thing to think of yourself as a writer but it’s a whole other matter when others see you that way. It’s like looking in a mirror. For most of my life the mirror was covered with fog. I could see an image but couldn’t quite make out what it was. I knew what I wanted it to be, sometimes I thought it was something else, but when others could clearly see what was there I realized that the fog had finally dissipated and there, in the mirror, was a writer staring back at me.
I’ve always been writer, as far back as I can remember. I used to write poetry on my book covers at school. Even though I hated spelling, I really didn’t mind English. I reveled in the assignments that made me use my imagination.
Imagination and observation are necessary talents to any writer. Even before I had ever set foot in a classroom I used these talents to entertain my family. When I was young, we would travel a lot. Before the invention of handheld video games, four children in the back of a station wagon would have to find ways to entertain themselves.
We played a game called T.V. I would act out a television program and when one of my brothers or sister would reach out to change the channel, (we didn’t have remotes then either) I would immediately switch to a different program. Sometimes I was the news, and then I would be a dramatic move, or a cartoon.
I probably enjoyed the game more than my brothers and sister did. For years I thought I wanted to be an actress. When I had my first child, I realized that the time and sacrifice necessary for a successful acting career would get in the way of my family life.
I didn’t consider the idea of being a professional writer until many years later. Even then it was a ghost dream that would fade in and out of my life. I would get all worked up about an idea, write a story or poem, send it off, get a rejection, and then give up for a few years. I would go on with my life as if I were just ordinary until the desire to solidify my ideas into something concrete became so overwhelming that I could no longer ignore it, and then the process would cycle all over again.
Through each of theses cycles I would learn a little more about the writing process, the publishing world, and the overall business of writing. I would also become more and more ensnared by the idea of becoming a professional writer.
Part of the problem that I would run into, besides hating rejection, was that I had so many ideas that I often did not know where to start or once I did start I would easily become distracted by a new project or the slightest resistance. I realize now that I had a lot of personal growing to go through before I was strong enough to accept such a arduous calling.
I had been able to complete a few short stories and poems, but I never got past a few chapters on a book until I asked a friend for help. I gave her a list of ten book ideas and asked her which one she thought I should write first. Her choice freed me up to concentrate all my efforts on the one project.
Since I was working full time and had a family to take care of I would glean any spare moment to work on my first novel. It took over two years to finish the rough draft.
The really great thing that happened during that time is that my family began to look at me as a writer. It’s one thing to think of yourself as a writer but it’s a whole other matter when others see you that way. It’s like looking in a mirror. For most of my life the mirror was covered with fog. I could see an image but couldn’t quite make out what it was. I knew what I wanted it to be, sometimes I thought it was something else, but when others could clearly see what was there I realized that the fog had finally dissipated and there, in the mirror, was a writer staring back at me.
