When Did I Fall in Love With Writing?

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We moved a lot, my eight siblings and me. Sometimes, they infringed my personal space. My stories disappeared. These were invaluable because, after trauma, I lost two things: a prodigious memory that enabled me to recall the page of any event in a book and an ability to create fantasy.

When not writing, I read everything I could get my hands on, including “ Love is a many-splendored thing” before I was eleven. The stories of the Orient fascinated me. Not until I grew up did I realize its unsuitability, but the sexual bits never disturbed me.

Foreign agents embroiled Guyana in racial unrest in my late teens. Hundreds died. I wrote an article to a national newspaper pleading for peace. I felt elated when they headlined it and again was overcome by the power of words. But I never, ever thought of earning a living as a writer.

Being a writer was to be touched by stardust. I was an ordinary girl. I enjoyed the writing workshops because I loved writing, but I wanted a career in nursing to do good. In the meantime, I adapted Biblical scenes for Church plays.

When I lived in England, I studied continuously, worked really hard to achieve professional excellence, and invested time in deep friendships. Writing drifted to the background. I undertook a research project to help homeless families and my supervising professor was Head of the Health Studies Department of the university.

He was an excellent mentor and in a gentle nudge after he reviewed my literary search, he declared: “You are a writer. You’re good at it.” His rare praise gratified me but did not motivate me to write except for the Christmas letters.

After the completion of thirteen years of professional and academic studies, I returned to college for a writing class. It was fun. I liked the assignments and being forced to have deadlines. However, as my parents’ health declined, I moved to America. Writing will wait. Writing and I was having a long courtship.

Within two months of migrating, I had joined a writing class and met two people whose friendship has enriched my life. One became a published writer.

Two years later, I attended a high school reunion in Washington D.C. My red hair was now transformed by a brown wig, my grey-brown eyes had become dark brown after fifty years. Some guys did not recognize me. A girlfriend prompted. “This is the girl with those great essays!’

They laughed loudly in recognition. I never knew that my writing would distinguish me although once our teacher had read my essay to demonstrate what he wanted.

Over the years, I met several authors; so many that there is a shelf in my bookcase of writers known to me personally.

One was my friend’s husband, a priest; another, a college friend. I realize they are ordinary people who had the tenacity and passion to succeed. I was ready to devote myself to writing.

Once again, work was an awful mistress. In this unfamiliar country, I had to prove myself all over again. However, I kept my friends from writing class and went to two writing conferences.

One of my poems won first prize In a statewide competition. I read another at a Jazz Café at Christmas. The Gazette printed two Essays of Faith and the Prov. 31 magazines published an article on Single women.

Virginia Woolf in her spirited style claimed — ‘ Writing is like sex . First you do it for love , then you do it for your friends , and then you do it for money.’

So far, I’ve been writing for love and friends.

There was a happy disruption when my husband fell in love instantly and persuaded me to marry him. I left my job, moved across the country, and trained as a copywriter, taking a range of courses.

Then I undertook courses on how to be a free-lancer and run a business. Despite significant investment, my marketing skills are inadequate and I’m still waiting for my first client.

The writing landscape has changed

With my eighties within striking distance, I review my love affair. It has been more constant than I deserve. I never lacked affirmation, but I still doubted my ability to earn as a writer.

Six months ago, my husband died suddenly. For the first time in my adult life, I can put my writing first. The writing landscape has changed in two significant ways since I fell in love.

1. I have to contend with the digital age and computers that did not exist when I wrote in notebooks.

Technology is a blessing but it can be a chronic pain if you thoughtlessly press delete or forget to save hours of work.

2. Then there are social media, and the email list deemed essential for writers. Why can’t I just write? Marketing may be an essential part of life, but for me, it is a distraction.

Despite these hurdles, I press on, relieved and grateful that I have another chance with my enduring love.

Hindsight allows for greater insight

I did not have the courage or self-belief to become a full-time writer when I was young. I regret that, but then I regret most roads not taken. However, if one believes as I do that words matter, then writing three theses and endless reports was not wasteful of my talent.

Getting a few more marks for a 30,000-word dissertation was good, but getting a judge to agree on the welfare of a child was consequential.

Looking back, I’ve had a faithful relationship with words throughout my life. It has varied in intensity and purpose, but it has remained to enrich my world. Not every writer’s life has a straight trajectory. The detours I took have created some fascinating stories.

Being a professional writer now is as challenging as any adventure, where each stage of the journey is an achievement… and like Virginia Woolf, I would like to do it for money.

Originally published at https://medium.com on February 18, 2021.

When Did I Fall in Love With Writing? was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.