Although I’ve been journaling since the age of twelve, it’s only recently that I’ve felt comfortable defining myself as a writer. I’m many things to many people: a wife, a mother, a ride, a friend, a teacher, an artist, but yes, I’m also a writer.
I enjoy writing because it encourages me to organize my thoughts. Speaking confesses to my disorganized thoughts. It seems no matter the effort, I struggle verbalizing what’s inside me, never mind trying to tell a joke or a story.
I once needed to speak in front of a group of people because I was a Child Care Director at the time. It didn’t go well. In fact, it was a disaster. Not only was it hard to think, but my mouth went dry and my voice trembled.
Afterwards, I vowed never to be in the position of public speaker and I apologize to the people who were counting on me to say some wonderfully thought out speech about children and child care of which I admit I carry some knowledge about.
Perhaps one day, I will speak to a few, and then to a small group and work my way up to a small crowd, but for the moment, I will put the pen to the paper or the fingers to a keyboard. Why stray from something that gives joy?
Writing. Ah, the joy of the written word. I’ve much to learn about the art, especially in the creative writing area. I look forward to learning more.
Today, I write about writing. It’s what I do and it’s what I enjoy. I write because it is a way for me to express my thoughts.
Writing may be arduous for some people, but for me it is a treasured tool. If I find myself with a bit of time on my hands, I’m content as long as I have a book, a pen and a notebook or better still a laptop computer.