Remembering the written road

After reading an editorial in the last AUM paper for the semester, I decided it was time to rediscover through this blog how I came to be a writer.
I suppose inside my own head I've always been a writer. I remember when I was seven, we had to write a book and put it together with pictures for the school library. It wasn't very good and the drawings were barely better than stick figures, but I wrote a complete story at that age. The only thing I really remember about it is that I wrote it about my Aunt Vivian and finding my way to her house.
While I didn't like to read what I was supposed to in elementary school, I remember fondly how my mother would read to me when I was younger. One of my fondest memories of her was the first time she read the fairytale "Little One Eye, Little Two Eyes, Little Three Eyes" to me. I know the whole tale isn't as fascinating as Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, but it made me think creatively. That's what my mom always wanted.
In her later years, I remember her reading more and more romance novels. But the point is that she wanted me to read more - read anything to broaden my creative juices.
I started to write poetry and began keeping a diary as soon as my teen years began. That was my start. Writing about my day or whatever it was I was feeling. Maybe it was only a few sentences, but it was enough to make me feel better about myself to know I'd done something. As a result of starting to keep a journal and writing poetry to get out my emotions, I've always relied on my pen to help me through any tough times.
I still use this technique today, typing long online journal entries that often read as though I'm insane. Of course, when you are feeling anger, hurt, pain or loss, you don't really think about what you are saying through your words, only that you are getting those feelings out in the best possible way.
I started to write a novel when I was 15. I remember it was just before my mother died. The concept of Anne Rice's vampires and living in another time, not aging had hooked me. Vampire lore and the supernatural powers that came with such things made me want to write my own twist. As I look back on that beginning, I can honestly say now, I have a different approach to vampires altogether. I've read different authors and watched different shows. I think my take on vampires would go more along with Joss Whedon's - except for the souls part.
My high school years were spent writing notes and trying to pass English and Algebra. Being a creative writer should have opened up a big world of wanting to know English and grammar, but somehow I was lacking in that area. Mainly my unwillingness to learn how to spell came at quite a cost. My spelling still has not improved. I rely religiously on spell-check and the online dictionary.
As I started junior college, I finally started to write more prose instead of verse. My interests changed and my world did more spinning before all was said and done. I had a boy break my heart, lost some friends, lost my favorite uncle, and moved to Troy to finish my schooling.
They say what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. But what I think is that those things keep killing us each time we relive the painful memories of it in our minds. They make us weak and strong all in the same moment. Weak - because we are only human and can only take so much pain, sorrow and hurt. Strong - because we get back up, build some more walls around our hearts, and try to go on as long as we can.
Writing has always been my way of coping with reality and reading has become another way of coping. To be able to escape into another world and become the heroine is often better than real life. We can see ourselves in the characters we create through writing or we can relate to the characters in the stories we read.
Escaping into another place and time can help us make it through a hard day at work or simply make us feel better about ourselves.
Most novels have a happy ending even if you have to read the next one in the series to find it. There must be a plot that brings about some sort of problem, which naturally leads to a conclusion, a completion of everything, thus bringing us a happy ending.
In saying all of this, I am simply saying I have not, even as a writer found my happy ending. In my personal life, I've seen nothing but sorrow and pain. Who's to say I won't find my happy ending as soon as I let go of the fear of taking a chance? Only I can do that and see what happens.
So, dear reader, I am starting fresh. Writing what I know and what I am. I can only hope and pray that my path in life will become more clear in the days and weeks ahead.
Life is never easy. If it were, it would be more like the fairytales we loved so much as children.