Wednesday, November 24, 2010


I don't know which grade school teacher in Reisterstown, Maryland I should thank for making us all partake in Creative Writing. Because really, she inspired me to write and I wrote often. I didn't even care if my short story made sense. And one day, I don't know when it happened ... but I just stopped writing stories. Nowadays, I tell stories as opposed to create them.

Would you believe that my report cards showed me as a below-than-average student in the field of language arts? Because really: I got to high school and got nothing by A's in English. Along the way, I've been told I'm a fabulous writer with a knack for narrative. No one was surprised when I joined my college newspaper and not only flourished, but became an editor and later was awarded $500 in scholarships. The highest honor was being voted Staffer of the Year by my peers.

I'll stop tooting my own horn long enough to say that I've been a writer my whole life. But reading all these fabulous blogs ... and working/writing at a magazine (I do a lot of ghost writing/contribution) ... I've stopped feeling like a fabulous writer. I don't think I'm a poor writer, I'll just attest to the fact that there are many people in this world that have a knack in ways that I do not. To the writers I admire: I tip my hat to you. I enjoy reading your work, and I hope to one day write as well to you.

A professor once told me: "A person that can write is worth their weight in gold. So if you wish to be a writer, then write."

I write. All the time.
By those standards? I guess this means I have been and always will be a writer. Feels pretty good, to be perfectly honest. But the kicker is that I know deep down: I'm not the cat's meow. I'm just a girl with a story to tell.

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