Beginning Again

I’ve always been a writer. It’s just a part of who I am. I’ve been writing since I was a very young girl when I used to make up stories about a character I called Miss Hero. I had a Barbie dressed in a cowgirl outfit, and I planned out all sorts of crazy scenarios with her, wrote them down, and then performed them in a sort of reader’s theater for my parents and their friends.

When I was in 7th grade, I started keeping a journal. My brain felt overloaded, and there were so many things that I just didn’t feel like I could share with others. And I thought, in my limited perspective, that no adult I knew could relate to me and what I was going through. I always knew that I wanted to work with kids, and so I wanted to make sure that I didn’t forget what it felt like to be a teenager. I kept a journal for years, filling about two a year until after I married. And then I started this blog. I was fairly consistent here until a couple years ago, and then a strange thing happened.

I stopped writing. And not just here. I nearly stopped writing altogether, except for work projects and a couple other small projects. For me, that is very, very bad. I need to write. When I don’t, I end up feeling overwhelmed with ideas, information, and possibilities. It affects my thought life, communication with others, and, strangely enough, my confidence in a number of areas. And I’ve found that I end up over-sharing in conversations; all those thoughts have to come out somewhere.

So, it’s time for me to write – blogging, journaling, and writing the book(s) I’ve had swirling around in my head for years.