My love of writing began when I was just seven years old…
and my third grade teacher assigned the class (none other than) a book project. While other students groaned about the idea of crafting a story from scratch, I was beyond excited. I worked on it for days and, with some help, came up with the idea of a story about a mouse looking for a home. Not only did I write it (with dedication and bio pages), I also illustrated (poorly) every page and designed the cover. It took a lot of time, but it didn’t matter because I enjoyed every minute of it. When I finished, I held my book in my tiny hands and, for the first time, realized I could bring ideas and thoughts to life. Looking back, it was the most important piece I ever created.
The (many) years since then have been fueled by creativity. Sometimes it worked, like when I:
- Started my own freelance marketing and design business at age 17
- Trained myself how to use complex design software when classes were too expensive
- Composed my first op-ed piece exposing a corrupt department while attending college
- Developed my own major to include courses in Journalism, Criminology and Sociology
- Became the only person in my family to graduate from college
- Showed a 40-year old bully that being young doesn’t equate to being weak
- Held weekend computer lessons for realtors who were afraid of new technology
- Creatively worked with a Reverend who was known to be too fabulous and too difficult
- Found a way to earn my Master’s Degree while working and running my own business
- Wrote a weekly column and blog for students looking to get into the workforce
- Developed an entire communications department at a NYC startup and
- Ran it as their Communications Director for more than six years
- Helped companies and non-profits understand the value of good branding, marketing and design
- Ghosted two books and a blog for a boring entrepreneur…and made him seem great (on paper, anyway)
- Told my family I was gay and brought my boyfriend home to meet them…all of them
- Pushed aside my fears of people stealing my work and published my own blog about writing a novel
When life didn’t seem to work, writing was there:
- In to do lists when I felt like my life had no meaning and I needed a path to restart
- In journals where I wrote about the trials of being gay and alone with no one to turn to
- In a first-generation I-Pod Touch where I wrote about living with someone who was cheating on me.
- In motivational lists after working hard at a horrible job and being told I wasn’t worth a decent salary
- In a Microsoft Word document where I wrote about how it felt to have a creative piece stolen from me and (illegally) shared on Reddit
- In plans for the future to reference on the days my depression returns and I spend days living in a cloud of doubt and helplessness
- And finally, on Scrivener…where a book, which had been started more than three years ago, remained stagnant due to “more important things”
I always turned to writing. When things were bad in my life, I wrote. When things were good, I wrote. When I didn’t know what the hell else to do, I wrote. I wrote for school, for work, for newspapers, for fun! Simply put, I loved to write.
My true calling made itself known when I was seven, but life (as it does) got in the way. Sure, half-assed attempts were made, but nothing serious. That was, until February 2017, when I published my first blog post declaring my novel aspirations to the world. Since then, my life has been filled with writing, researching, blogging… and people watching at Starbucks.