I am many things — a woman, a mother, a daughter, a child. I’m a survivor and a victor. I love to teach and sing. I make dolls and have decorated my apartment with counted cross-stitch pictures that I made myself. And I write. That’s probably the one thing that has brought the most comfort and stability into my life.
I’ve wanted to be a writer since early childhood. I remember the exact place I was standing — in my sixth grade classroom, next to my desk by the window — when I said to myself, “I want to be a freelance writer when I grow up.” At the time I had no idea what a freelance writer was, or exactly what they did, but I made up my might right then and there. This is what I wanted to do with my life. I pictured myself sitting at an old manual typewriter with a pencil between my teeth and crumpled paper heaped around my feet, hammering out the world’s next internationally-renowned classic. And it was going to make me rich! I wonder if JK Rowling entertained the same fantasies. I’m so happy for her, to have found the success she has, and I’m going to join her soon.
How times have changed! For starters, I’m writing this piece on a newly-purchased HP Pavilion computer with a 27-inch screen. I can actually see what I’m doing now! How cool is that! When my laptop died recently and I shopped for something to replace it, I decided to splurge. It was high time I did something nice for myself.
Publishing has changed too. I currently have three children’s bedtime stories published on Amazon, with a couple more illustrated and ready to go. Back in the manual typewriter days, such things as computers small enough to sit on your desk, internet, and online publishing weren’t even seen on Star Trek. And a link was something you found on a fence. But now, anybody who has a hankering to can “get their word out.”
By now, you may be asking the same question I’ve been asking all my life, “If she’s had this dream for so long, if it burns in her soul and makes life worth living, why isn’t she a household name by now?” The one-word answer is simple enough — abuse. Expanded just a bit, life-long abuse. You see, my mother is a sociopath, and that set me up for a lifetime of hurt. Maybe I’ll write about it here, maybe I’ll describe a bit of what happened, but I really want to focus on healing. For now I’m enjoying the ability to write in peace.
I’ve gotten to the point where I can actually be grateful for the life I’ve lived. It has given me something to write about, a cause to espouse. As I write cutesy bedtime stories for little children, I weave a lifeline of courage and truth throughout. Then, when they’re older, they will have the inner strength they need to combat the bad guys in their world. I heard recently that my journey can actually lead others out of their own Wonderland. I decided to start with the little ones.