Writer, Writer

I don't consider myself a "Writer" with a capital W. I haven't published anything. I tried at 13 with a poem titled "Evening." I sent it to American Girl magazine. I received a nice rejection letter in return.

I wasn't completely discouraged. After all, my favorite heroine, Elizabeth (Betsy) Warrington Ray, had been writing stories and sending them on a round robin throughout the magazine world for years before she was published. As a matter of fact, I believe I wrote my poem after reading about Betsy's poem being published in the Deep Valley Sun.

Betsy Ray, aka Maud Hart Lovelace, was who I aspired to be. I was twelve and had been creating stories and make believe adventures for my sisters and friends at school for years. I was particularly drawn to characters and books about girls/women with independent spirits, and resourcefulness. Most of the heroines I admired were writers or kept journals.

At nine I was staging reenactments of the White House during Dolley Madison's time. At ten, my teacher asked me to direct the Weekly Reader pullout play based on Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad.  One of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Cook, recognized my gifts and encouraged me to keep reading and writing.

In junior high I wrote a short play entitled "Ponce de Leon and the Fountain of Youth." It was my Social Studies project and I received an A plus. I also wrote a fictional story about a girl named Siobhana (pronounced Sigh-o-bana), who lived in a palace in the Far East and was captured and held in a castle until she was rescued by a prince. My Language Arts teacher loved my creative effort.

In high school a wonderful teacher and mentor told me I should pursue a writing career. I had so many dreams back then. I wanted to be an interpreter at the United Nations, a photographer for National Geographic, a writer, a journalist, and a back up singer in a band.

In college, I tried to writing for the college paper. I could not seem to stay within the word count, and my descriptions went way beyond "just the facts, ma'm!" I found it all too restricting for my penchant for the flowery phrase and detailed descriptions of minor details. My style didn't match the job, but sadly I believed I would never become any sort of writer. So I chose a "real" job- teaching.

I stopped writing stories, but  the passion for the written word never left. I continued to hear a running dialogue of narration in my head, and the insatiable need to ease drop on other's people's conversations never stopped. Journals became the repository of my regurgitated thoughts and ideas.

After filling twenty-six journals I gathered my courage and created this blog. I think Betsy Ray would approve.