On October 31st, 2009, I became a writer. Some of you know this about me. I've talked about it a few times. Before 10/31/2009, I'd pretty much never written creatively, apart from assignments in literature courses in high school and college. I didn't write for fun. I'd never journaled or written poetry. I never considered myself an overly creative person.
But quite suddenly, two years ago, I decided to write a book. The idea had been churning in my mind for a little while, both the idea of writing a book and the idea for the story I wanted to tell. I was intrigued by the challenge of writing a novel. And on 10/31/2009, I started doing it.
It was the most all-consuming, startling experience I've ever had. I didn't do it for NaNoWriMo or anything, but by the end of November 2009, I had completed a 98k-word novel.
I was as surprised as everyone else who knew me. My parents were frankly stunned. My husband was entirely perplexed. My friends were quizzically amused. It was so out of character for me.
That's how it all started for me. At first, I was pretty much convinced it was a one-time thing, but the passion for it only grew. I couldn't rid my system of it, and every other part of me--and my life--has been trying to adjust ever since. Now we're two years down the road, and although I supposed my drive to write could die, it doesn't show any signs of doing so. I'm a writer now. It's part of who I am.
Do YOU have a writing birthday, or a moment to which you can connect your "birth" as a writer? Or has your journey been one of gradual evolution rather than a Big Bang?
*note: I'm without power AGAIN, thanks to the freakish October snow storm, and may not be back this week, since they're saying we won't have light or HEAT until 11/3. I'll try to get around to blogs to comment as best I can!*
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