Being a Writer

One day in 2015, I declared myself a writer.

I had been blogging for a couple of years, mostly a mixed bouquet of random thoughts, book reviews, and snaps of my beagles.  Despite having a tiny but beloved following, it was a really long time after starting my blog that I actually defined myself as a writer.  Truth be told, my declaration was only a virtual one – I didn’t talk about my writing very much in person and when I did, I qualified it with “I have a blog” (and a lot of blushing).

Nonetheless, I was proud of that little baby step.

Then, as quickly as I had reached out and grasped a small corner of the blogosphere for myself, I was hit with a gigantic wall of writer’s block.  I sat down many, many nights in front of the computer and tried to write something, anything.  Nothing came out.  Even my book reviews dwindled, until I wondered what had happened to my literary passions.

As a child, I utterly loved reading and writing.  I took a creative writing class in high school and it felt like I was fulfilling a childhood dream, but it never really struck me that I could make it a career.  I went to university and got a “real job”, and didn’t write much of anything for a decade.

The blog was a silent dare from me to myself, to put my thoughts and my creativity out into the world.  I think the writer’s block was my way of telling myself that I had kind of missed the mark.

As much as I enjoyed the blog, my dream has always been to write fiction, literary non-fiction, and essays.  So rather than just re-tweeting those inspirational quotes that tell you to follow your dreams, here I am actually doing it.

I hope you enjoy what you read here.  These stories are really just me, out in a small boat, in the middle of the ocean, no shoreline in sight.