Rewriting my Future

    Here is my mission statement: I am a writer. I am still in the processing of learning what that entails and means, but I am confident that this is what I'm meant to do. And by George, I'm going to write the hell out of my soul. And I would like to inspire and encourage others to do so as well.
     When I was a little girl, I told everyone I wanted to be a writer. After all I loved words, I actually read the dictionary for fun, and threw big words like sycophant and lackadaisical into my conversations earning bizarre looks from my peers, and bemused smiles from adults.  Spurred on by my 3rd grader teacher's assurance that I was a very imaginative child, and my parent's doting praise on my every misspelled story about unicorns and princesses; I felt very sure of my path.
     Smugly over-confident in my ability as only children are, I created a story club a la Anne Shirley in 8th grade. I encouraged my like-minded friends to join me, and we wrote the usual middle-school sappy stories and poems.
     It wasn't until high school and a cold awakening in accelerated English that doubts started to eat away at me making me question my talent and abilities. I was good, but not good enough.
     In college, I tried to be somewhat practical and majored in History with the ambitious aim of being a college professor. But I still minored in Creative Writing unable to completely give up my literary passions.
     Yet, what I learned in college made "writer" a dirty word. Something I said under my breath and flushed with embarrassment afterwards. Everyone wanted to be a writer, and they all seemed better than me with their deep, profound poetry about Orange Crush cans as a metaphor for life. Each one of them carrying around dog-eared copies of "On the Road" and Faulkner and Salinger while looking down their noses at me with my cheerful poems and dog-eared copy of Tolkien.
     My own father, a pragmatic man worn down by the harsh realities as a youth worker on the cruel streets of London doubted my abilities. I was no longer the adorable child writing fairy tales, but the young woman who must buckle down and find a realistic career.
     It wasn't until my screenwriting professor in my Masters program at University College Dublin hailed me as his saving angel and lauded and encouraged my talents that my dad and I began to believe I had any. Unfortunately, I still lacked confidence and that driving hunger that is absolutely essential to any modicum of success.
     So I floundered and played around squandering any chances I had, burying the word writer deep in my psyche. I became a high school teacher educating and attempting to inspire young minds on how to write poetry and the somewhat tedious format of expository writing.
     Then I began a mother to two adorable but hyper sons barely able to write a check for preschool let alone a story or a poem. Motherhood consumed me. I loved and love my sons but became an automaton to their basic needs. Until one early morning, I had the most bizarre dream inspired by binge watching the new Sherlock that kissed the sleeping princess of my writer's life awake. Suddenly, I couldn't hold back anymore, the words rushed out demanding to be written, the characters heard, the story plotted.
     An exhilarating rush bordering on orgasm, it pulled me back into the world of words and story. All I knew was that I had to write, had to prove to myself that I could do it and would not quit. So I plotted out a screenplay about a girl addicted to daydreams. I floundered alone only confessing to a few cherished friends, my literary ambitions. I even hid in my closet writing, too embarrassed to tell my husband for fear he'd laugh or give me the condescending pat of "isn't that nice." As in many things, I underestimated him. Once I fessed up, he thoroughly encouraged me, and even made suggestions for films I could watch for inspiration.
     So here is one of my biggest pieces of advice: Don't Write In Isolation. There is always the temptation and fear of showing others our writing or even confessing to literary ambitions only to be ridiculed or shot down. And yes, there will be those detractors who brush off your enthusiasm quickly turning the conversation back to how many calories are in a plain bagel with no cream cheese and who gossip about the P.T.O. Who needs them. You will find others who support and even revel in your creativity. Once I came out of the literary closet, I discovered many friends who listened patiently to my emerging plot, even helping me hone and refine it as I went along. In fact, one mom and I formed a creative club encouraging each other's artistic endeavors, eager to have discovered a kindred spirit.
     Here's my other important advice: Find a Writing Group. My dear friend, Christina discovered the Palm Springs Writer's Guild which led me to the Desert Screenwriters Group who kindly helped point out the mistakes in my script and asked the questions that needed to be asked leading to its final rewrite. Consequently, I submitted my final script to the international Shore Scripts Screenwriting competition and earned myself the honor of being a semi-finalist.
      So here is the whole point to my story: I promised myself that I would write a screenplay, no matter how hard it got. I would see it through to the bitter end perfecting it till it was something I was proud of. I refused coffee invites and forced myself to write for three hours each day while my youngest was in preschool, even dashing off to Panera and Starbucks on the weekends for marathon caffeine filled sessions. But I did it! I proved to myself that I am a writer and could be proud to say. I rewrote my future, and am currently writing my first novel to once again prove to myself that I can do it.
     I do not profess to know it all. I just want to share what has worked for me and give others like me a place to talk and reach out so that you know its ok to say "I'm a writer". You can do it too.