My relationship to words and my love of weaving stories waned as I put years between me and the girl who wrote about her lover. There were persons who were less than supportive & the trappings of middle school and high school, a life that lends itself much less to quiet introspection and much more to just plain living. There were adults who warned, out of love for me, of the dangers of choosing a work not well known for it’s moneymaking. By the time I reached college and needed to make a decision, writing was just a hobby. I graduated with a degree in biotechnology and further job as a professional medical writer that eventually led me to Bioinformatics. It was good work and I was good at it. I found time to write on the side and I believed that was enough.
But eventually, the truth that I wasn’t following my heart. When it did, it found me, daydreaming of being a writer. I began to practice my craft. I’d get home from a day of college , & then and write. I’d get up before dawn and write some more. Every nap-time, every spare minute, found me typing away, putting words to feelings and experiences and weaving stories. I was becoming a writer in the dark hours and I talked about it in whispered tones, mostly to myself. In life, there are moments that define us. There are decisions we make, standing where our road splits, that commit us to one journey over another, no turning back.
“There are moments we know will change everything and we know we need to choose our words carefully because the impression will last forever.”
With all the bad decisions I took in the past , I sat with my father and said, “I want to be a writer.” I said it out loud. I shared the work I had done in the dark hours as evidence that I could do it. And then I did it.I did it for a year. And then I struck out on my own, chasing clients ,depending my work at the mercy of my words and my ability to string them together in a pleasing way to impress people to buy them. Lastly you know, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes I worry that this isn’t working, i doubt that a passion isn’t a living-making sort of thing. You know, the people who says that if you choose work you love you’ll never work a day in your life …Like seriously .. In my opinion you don’t really understand what it is to fight to our inner ones. It is struggle. It is exhausting and overwhelming work. Pursuing your passion is work plus struggle. The creators know it. The artists know it.
But for your passion?
You wake up in the darkness and drag yourself to the Coffee, in the light that illuminates your small world until the sun takes over.
And when you do it?
It doesn’t matter, if the money isn’t there like you want it to be and the things don’t flow in same manner you dreamed about, still the work is worth it. I repeat, don’t let anyone tell you your story.