How I Knew I Was a Writer

Because I can’t NOT write.

I’m known to lose track of time when I write – as in – I have to be careful not to burn what’s cooking. It has happened.

Word weaving is an art form. I see story everywhere. My mind experiences words, story, and writing like a colorful flowing river that morphs into a rainbow that melts into a person’s tears that etc, etc, etc… I used to assume everyone worked that way. I learned over the years that wasn’t the case.

Writing is as much a spiritual exercise for me, as the work I do.

It started in grade school when I realized anything my imagination could come up with became real when I put it on the page. By junior high, I had a daily poem writing habit.

Writing is a big part of how I’ve made a living my entire adult life – in some form or another.

I’ve been told many times over the years my writing motivates people to act and moves them. I have a journalism background and for years have written emotionally-attuned scripts about human trials and triumphs for nationally and internationally distributed digital media projects.

There are many writing styles. I do know my writing is stronger for the ear than the page sometimes. I think about how words will be heard more than read. It’s often quite different. That quirk gives my writing style it’s distinction. I’m sure some would snub my casual inspirational way of expressing thoughts. It doesn’t keep me up at night. It’s an awareness and a hasty sensible assumption.

I didn’t realize this the first several years, but it has occurred to me reaching people at heart level in a way that makes them want to reach out to each other – not distance themselves – is my quiet advocacy.

Reaching people at heart level gives my work a lot of meaning and I don’t take that skill or outcome for granted.

Words can hurt or heal people. What could be better than having a skill useful in helping people understand each other better?

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