Sharing My Writer's Journey

I never wanted to become a writer. I never really aspired to it. I wanted to become a nurse. Or a healer of some kind. Possibly a Hospice nurse. I thought about that a lot. I am a mother. I am a nurse and a healer. I take care of. I wanted to become a broadcast journalist. I wanted to share the news. I learned to think and type simultaneously when my father, a broadcaster, told me that this was the only way to do it. I would write compositions, term papers, and stories long hand and ask him to type them for me. He quickly gave me my own typewriter and told me I was doing it all wrong, that to think and type simultaneously was the only way I would become a journalist. I changed my mind. I didn’t want to become a journalist. Thinking and typing at the same time was difficult and my muscle memory and my brain reacted against it. But look at me now. I think and type. All the time. It’s my career. My father was right. I am a nurse and a writer. A mother and a healer. I write what intuitively comes to me…words of encouragement and healing. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my journey to becoming a writer began when I started typing, playing writer on my new electronic typewriter. I would pretend to write words, long sentences, even paragraphs that were a jumbled mess because thinking and writing at the same time was difficult. But pretending was fun. I was an effervescent child, not quite here. Off in the clouds somewhere. I played writer and became a writer. I’m not sure many people approach their life choice this way, but I typed my way into it and now I can only think and type at the same time. I guess you could say I became what I pretended to be.

Ok. I know this sounds kinda kooky and I don’t mean for it to be. But there’s mysticism in creating oneself. We all do it. We think and become. I want to become the healer and help others understand that their journey is the journey of creating, manifesting, and becoming. 

Writing is a tool to teaching. I never thought about being a teacher, but I played at that too as a child. We set up “school” in the basement and took turns playacting teacher, doling out worksheets and lessons, and when it was time to be the student we switched seats. My friends and I loved playing school. I loved the teacher/student way. Looking back, I guess I’m somewhat stymied by it all struggling to understand the writer’s journey. How did I get here and why can’t I shake this complicated existence? I am a nurse, healer, student, teacher. A seeker. And I write to share. There’s no other way. The pieces are coalescing and I am building a bridge on these pilings, something to travel across.


Cultivating Positivity in Rejection

I’ve been thinking a lot about rejection. It’s something all artists experience. I’m glad, in a way, to have experienced it. I don’t mean to say that it has been easy to feel unloved or unwanted, certainly disembodied from my own confidence as a writer, but to have experienced rejection means to understand humanness, what it means to feel, and this is something we all can own. We feel. Emotion is our middle name. We suffer. And the more we recognize that we suffer the more I think it is important to think of ways to shift suffering into a positive experience. I’m not saying this is easy, or to be taken lightly, but thinking that we’re suffering causes even more suffering, because when we think, we create. If we recognize that making art, as with anything in life, creates suffering, then perhaps we should think about how we can find something positive from a seemingly negative situation. My work has been rejected so many times I’ve lost count. All artists will tell you the same. But then why do we continue? We continue because there’s something we want to say. I don’t take rejection personally. I might on occasion get mad, yes, but I think of rejection now as a way to toss out old thinking and come up with a new way of thinking and a new way of trying to write. I use rejection as a spring board to expand myself. Sure, one person might like what another doesn’t, and I could continue for years to keep submitting things that aren’t accepted, but I’m shifting out of stubbornness and into freedom to write anew!