This was a homework assignment for a local writer’s group that I belong to.
I have finally found my passion and calling and I am thankful to call myself a writer. I do not have a degree or career, I am not published, but for the first time I feel completely at home when surrounded by those who share this craft.
This epiphany came to me in October of 2013 when I attended a book reading at a local bookstore. My childhood friend, a journalist and travel writer had a short story published in The Best Women’s Travel anthologies. While she and the other authors read aloud, I had an overwhelming feeling that “this” is what I was supposed to be doing. An odd revelation because at that time, I had never written and the thought of speaking in front on a group was enough to have me break out in a sweat. I did nothing about it. Then six months later, I decided to start a blog about my love for Italian culture. Thinking it might be wise to give it a try before committing, I wrote my first story called Serendipity. I found that I was completely lost in the moment and was elated at the completion. I was fully in the zone and loved it.
Soon after, I looked up a long time friend, remembering that she also was a writer and taught creative writing, I felt she would be a good resource to guide me in the right direction. She not only shared her wisdom, but she became my mentor during the biggest transition I would soon face. We have been inseparable ever since and our combined passions have transpired in to new ventures such as this group.
As writers, we share many common bonds, the biggest one being vulnerability. We bare our soles which can be painful, yet therapeutic. Then to offer it to the world with the possibility of being criticized and judged, it is no wonder that many writers have turned to alcohol.
Today as I write this, I am especially thankful for the new community I belong to that offers support, inspiration and a safe environment for continued growth.