A Trail of Thoughts

A blank page is so intimidating. Until there is a word on the page my anxiety levels go through the roof, but the second I start tapping on the keys and see the words up there, my brain takes over and starts pumping, well -- Nonsense, but I organize it.

Oh god...

When I was little, I used to write stories all the time on my mom's enormous computer (Don't feel too old, think black screen and blinking green words). My favorite memory of this was absolutely heartbreaking to young me. Even though I could just barely read or write, I sat down and typed out a story of two dolphins playing in the sea. I wrote of them playing above and below the water, and the sun shining on the glittering oceans around them.

Something like this. Only two of'em.

When I was finished I printed it. (This was on the continuous fax paper that has holes on both sides that you have to rip off but are impossible to clean up, and you find litter all around your house years later.) Then I ran over to my mother who was watching TV, and I asked her to read it to me. I wanted to know what she thought of my story. I was so proud. I have no clue what age I was but I remember my mom beginning to read the story, and telling me about the dolphins I'd written about. I was so excited as I sat next to her watching her read MY STORY, and pictured them perfectly, until she asked me what a word meant. Then I was *such* a good writer, that I made up how to spell words I didn't know how to spell. I was so mad at my mom for not being to read my writing. My mother, being the saint she is, asked me if I would read it aloud to her, and I happily obliged.

So I began to read to her about the dolphins and the big ocean waves, the seagulls and the fish, but when I got halfway down the page -- I couldn't read what I typed. It wasn't English; I don't know what it was. Five consonant words. All vowel words. You name it. I looked up from my story, looked into my mom's concerned face and burst into a flood of tears.

I cried my eyes out that night because I couldn't share my story with my mom.

Even as I grew older and wrote a (terrible) book at 13, I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

When I was 15 and kept a notebook on me at all times to write down hilarious jokes my friends made, I thought I was documenting them to share and laugh about with the same friends later.

When I was 21, I came home from college for Thanksgiving. I invited all my friends over and we got into a long discussion about what we wanted to do when we grew up. Everyone had these very serious and obvious dreams that they were many steps towards realizing, and I said I didn't know. A close friend of mine turned to me with the most dumbfounded face and said,

"What? You always carry that journal - You're going to be an author."

I think that simple sentence changed my life. I was left speechless. I had been in denial for so long, because I knew I wouldn't make money from writing. I felt more that I was doing it for me. I was writing stories that I wanted to read, because the one's I had read were simply not cutting it. I kept reading fairytales where the end left me extremely dissatisfied. I wanted a very specific fairytale, and I spent years reading books, trying to find it and coming up disappointed. I wanted a boy's book about girls. I wanted it to be cool and *about* faeries, but not girly 'Tinkerbells'.

No. Get out.

I didn't want it to be a romance novel, either. I finally realized that I had to write it myself, so I did.

Even now, my hope to someday be able to support myself writing seems like a daydream. Like... When you're a teenager and your lifelong dream is to become a famous actress and you really, really believe it.

Maybe one day it won't be a dream any longer. But until then, you'll find me on here, sharing short horror stories I've written in my spare time to frighten, because I've always loved a good campfire tale.

I write both fairytales and horror, because the balance makes me happy.

And if it doesn't make me happy, what on earth would the point be?

All my love,


  1. It's kind of funny that we were both (unbeknownst to each other) writing similar posts at the same time while griping back and forth on Twitter today. :) You've got the talent and the drive, you can make this thing work. Until then, I'll be there in the literary trenches with you.

    1. That is so bizarre... We totally did.. And we shall work our way out of the trenches by forming barricades! Love your post, wish I could've seen your musician phase!

  2. You will be writing stories and publishing.


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