It’s Friday again (or in my case, Saturday) where hundreds of brave writers gather each week over Lisa-Jo Baker’s blog write for five minutes flat on one word. No hyper-editting. No backtracking. Just real, unscripted writing. Won’t you join us?
Today’s word: Writer
Being a writer is a dream that started when I was a little girl. When I was twelve years old, I used to write poems in church, on weeknights while my Dad was watching the news, while laying on my bed when I was supposed to be doing homework.
I remember using the static from the television to hold one of my poems to the TV, blocking the screen and keeping my Dad from watching an episode of 60 Minutes. He was not enthused.
This dream of mine lay latent for many years. After graduating college, I got a job in real world. So they call it. I sat in a cubicle answering angry phone calls from customers wanting to know why their claim didn’t get paid.
I had no inspiration to write.
I had little inspiration to do anything.
After becoming a mom I decided to leave the cubicle life behind. I gave up the irate calls for an irate baby screaming for his milk, cooing when he was fed and rested, and keeping me up more hours than I knew there were in a day.
Little by little, the inspiration began trickling into my heart again.
So I write. In between naps, after bedtime, whenever I can find a moment.
And I wouldn’t trade it.
I write because like all of the other mothers out there who rock and feed and kiss their babies, pouring out their love until their tank is far past empty, I have a story to tell. We all do, whether we’re moms or customer service reps, teachers or students.
Sometimes it just takes a new perspective to see that the story, whether we saw it or not, was there all along.