Becoming A Writer

While reading Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul, I came upon the section “How I Became a Writer,” and it made me think about how I myself had become one. Using those words is rather funny, making it simple for one to just become a writer, like snapping his or her fingers or being put into a suit labeled “writer.”

The written word has always been more natural to me than speaking aloud. Place me in a crowded room and tell me to interact, and I feel as though I’ve run into a stone wall. But tell me to write a monologue and read it, I am a free spirit running rampant over an open meadow. It has always been easier for me to present my ideas and thoughts on paper.

I believe that I was destined to be what I am today, due to my early exposure to writing. When I was very young, my grandmother would read to me before taking my afternoon naps, and it wasn’t long before I could tell her the stories before she got to the next page. I was able to read simple phrases at the early age of two. Throughout elementary school, I was ahead of the other children in that my reading was three grade levels above average.

My introduction to literature was Alice in Wonderland, and it remains to this day one of my favorite stories of all time. I must have checked it out at the library dozens of times. I was inspired by the use of character and, though I didn’t know it at the time, Carroll’s character archetypes would be forever locked in my brain. Many times in my writing I’ve tried to emulate the great writers, like Carroll, that have inspired me. I’ve wanted to speak in the poetic tongues of Tolkien’s elves, hobnob with rabbits and Hatters in Wonderland, or parlay among pirates in Treasure Island.

My family can surely attest to this, that I have always had quite an imagination. I could come up with a character or a story or an idea at first whim, and could describe it so vividly. My favorite games always involved make-believe, and as I got older I even got into the entire role-playing game scene.

I wrote my first story when I was around ten years old, in my fifth grade writer’s workshop class. We were given a prompt and the basic characters to start with, and were told to go home and write the story. I needed no second invitation, and after finishing my other homework I sat down at my old Tandy computer and began pecking away at the keys, delving into my deepest imagination. With all my heart I wanted to tell the best story in the class.

After printing out the four page story on a dot matrix printer, neat with aligned margins and a fancy looking header, I was ready to present my work the next day. I volunteered to read first, and by the end of the reading I have to admit that I even impressed my teacher. But even then I had never given a thought to becoming a writer.

At the time, I thought the story was great. It had plot, character, and a twisted conflict. Looking back, for a ten year old it wasn’t bad, though I have to laugh at how I would describe things in sets of three words every single time. But I loved to tell stories, and I still do. I look at the yellowing paper of the old manuscript, and compare it to what I do now, seeing how far I have progressed in those ten or so years. Wow, the beauty of nostalgia.

I’ve also had a knack for poetry. I’ve never had much of a love life, but I’ve been told that my sweetest sentiments have come in written form. Instead of asking girls out on dates, I would write poems and sonnets to them and leave them in their lockers, hoping that my words would impress them and they would fall for me. Unfortunately it didn’t work, but I earned a reputation as a romanticist.

It wasn’t until my junior year of high school when my talent and desire for writing became more evident. I took a creative writing class to fulfill my fine arts credit, but my interest for writing grew as I found out how admired my writing really was. I joined the staff of the school’s literary magazine in my senior year, and submitted a total of seven poems. Needless to say, all seven were unanimously voted to be accepted into the magazine that year, more than anyone in the entire school. It was then that I realized my calling was in the field of writing.

I still remember the impression I gave my English 101 professor in my first year of community college. At the end of the semester, he approached me personally and told me how well I had grasped the English language and grammar, more than anyone in the class, and that I should look into becoming a writer. Another push in the right direction, and I was ready too.

Fortunately I have the support of my family, as they have seen my enthusiasm and desire for writing. Recently I attended a writer's convention, held in my hometown of Baltimore, that jumpstarted my creativity more than before, for I felt at home with fellow writers. I had found my niche in society and for once was accepted. This further increased my enthusiasm and desire to write.

The beginning of 2003 has marked an important time in my writing life. Back at the convention I had attended, I met John Harnish, a representative from Infinity Publishing. I had heard about self-publishing before, but didn't think much about it. I researched the company and found the process to be quite easy.

So I started putting together my book manuscript, not a novel, but a collection of my poetry up to that point. The end result, "A Parody of Myself", has been my biggest accomplishment to date. I am very proud of my work, and have put a lot of effort into promoting it.

I hope that one day soon I will put out that great American novel, or award-winning article, or perhaps become the poet laureate for a future president. There goes my imagination again.