When I was younger, around the age of 9 or 10, there was nothing I wanted more in life than to be a writer. I read multiple books, around 5-6 a week. I had a thirty minute commute to school every day and I spent it reading (to this day, I feel carsick if I don't have a book in hand). I had to stay in the after care program and I spent that time perusing the meager book cases at my school. I read fantasy tales of Narnia, tales of Oz, Nancy Drew mysteries. Once I finished all the books in my school, I begged my dad to take me to the library and there I spent my Sunday afternoons, taking out 10 books at a time (the limit for my student pass). After I exhausted the kids section, I made my way upstairs to the huge adult section and started reading there.

As I kept reading, I realized that I also wanted to make my own stories. So one day, I sat in front of our family computer, pulled up Microsoft Works and started typing. I started writing a novel. It was a coming of age story about a brother and sister who were orphans and had to take a cross country trip to their new family. It was set in the 1940's, don't ask me why. I had written about 300 pages, fleshed out my characters, and was so damn proud of myself.

Unfortunately, back in the '90s, I didn't know too much about backing up computer data. I was only 9, I didn't know about floppy disks. One day there was a power failure and all 300 pages of story? Gone. Done. No more to be seen.

After that I cursed writing. I never wanted to do it again. Oh, I still read. I still read like a maniac. But to write? Was something I hated. Think of it like placing all your time, love, tears and sweat into something. . .and having it disappear on you. With no warning. Writing had dumped me and I had no desire to return back to it.

There are times when I miss it. I have all these ideas floating in my head of stories that I want to write, stories that need to be written. I would be lying if I said I never wrote after that. I did, but never something so long and committed. I wrote poems and short stories. Stories that never went more than 30 pages. I became commitment phobic of writing! How ridiculous is that? I thought, Well, if I write something longer, how do I know that I won't lose that also? My fear of writing had extended itself into a general fear of commitment. I could only commit myself to a few scattered pages, here and there.

Well, the desire to write has come again. And this time I'm no longer scared to write. The stories that are flying around in my head? I've decided that they need to be written. And they will be. Whether or not they find form in a bonded book, in between a hard cover. . .well that depends on how committed I'll be. But at least I'm trying again.

Edit: I discovered this fun little ditty:

Do not put statements in the negative form.
And don't start sentences with a conjunction.
If you reread your work, you will find on rereading that a
great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
Unqualified superlatives are the worst of all.
De-accession euphemisms.
If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague.
- William Safire, "Great Rules of Writing"

Labels: literature