Initially, writing came through as an innate desire to express.
A need, really, and as that became impossible to ignore, I dove in, without a clue as to what I was doing. There are no romantic stories that start with, “for as long as I can remember, I wrote.” It didn't come naturally, and I would say that it still doesn’t, but my gosh does it fill me up. Not just that, but it stands as a reminder.
A reason to keep learning and shifting when adjustments are needing to be made.
And once I began dipping my toes in, shaping the words around adventures and releasing anxious energy I thought I’d never be rid of, things began to fall into place, and just in time for my grandpa to begin his lessons in literature: Emails back and forth that walked through common grammatical mistakes, sentence structure, and often misused words, in a way that worked with not against the way information was processed on an individual level.
Without that, I was trapped behind their expectations. Their desire to be perfectly placed here and there, blindly and without question, abiding by the rulebook that was assigned to me.Read More