Down the Rabbit Hole

Naturally Writing through this life

30 Day Blogging Challenge
PROMPT January 24th
How did you start writing? Did someone urge you to write, or did it come naturally?

I'm not sure if anyone urged me to write. My grandmother was an artist and poet. She always encouraged me to express myself creatively. I spent a great deal of time with her when I was growing up. I remember reading stories to her, she was always willing to listen to those early, awkward stories when I was finding my "voice". I wrote really terrible songs too, the corny and anxiety-riddled tween variety, in multi-colored spiral notebooks I hid under my bed. I seemed to be always writing something from very early on. It felt natural for me. I felt that whatever drew my grandmother to canvas and oil paint, also drew me to words.

I wrote all through high school, fell in love with the ability to express myself with words. I took a creative writing course in high school that was taught by the writer Wally Lamb. Wally Lamb ran the Creative Writing program at my high school, that was until Oprah selected his freshman novel, "She's Come Undone" for her book club. He told us the incredible story about getting the phone call that changed his life and started his career as a novelist. We had a first row seat to his transformation into famous, best selling author. I learned so much from him in that class and watching his success happen in real time was so fascinating. I still remember the day he collected our assignments and paged through them slowly until he selected mine to read aloud from. It was such a moment of validation for me, that someone with his talent thought my work was worthy of the attention.

It wasn't until college that writing truly became more than a passion. I discovered that I didn't just love to write but that I needed to write. It became my way of dealing with life, with trauma and pain and loss. My grandfather committed suicide while I was away at school. The tragedy left me guilt-stricken and started the domino effect of seismic charges that would devastate my family. I wrote through that time, finding a remarkable peace from releasing my pain onto paper. It was cathartic, it was agonizing, but it was also healing. I began to write more compulsively. It was my therapy. It was what kept me anchored. My writing took a darker turn, reflective of things I kept inside, the demons and impulses I battled with. I found I could no longer let my grandmother read my work...in fact, I became very much a closeted writer.

There have been difficult times in my life. I have remained a loyal writer throughout and I credit the craft with having saved me at several points when it could have gone another way. Writing has seemed to always pull me back from the brink. When I became a mother, I found a new muse. For the first time in my life, my muse was about light and promise not pain, or rage or loss. My daughter, growing inside me, awakened a new voice and it changed everything. It inspired me to really open the doors and start pursuing writing more seriously. I've been free of the closet ever since.