I had all kinds of dreams in elementary school; wanting to be a pilot, a chef, even an architect, all at once.
For a little while, I even dreamed of being a basketball player. I wrote often, but hadn’t thought of it as a career. By the time I entered high school, I had other thoughts. Using computers and the Internet were second-nature to me. The idea of being a counselor or coach crossed my mind. I had never been clear on what I wanted to be and silently wondered if that was normal. It seemed to me that nearly everyone I knew was sure that they wanted to be this and would be studying that. Me? I couldn’t decide. Puzzled and perplexed, I picked up an empty notebook and began to write.
It was hard at first. My wrist ached, but I wrote anyway. “There’s a city over yonder, where I someday want to go…” it began. Being raised in a Christian family, the line, of course, referred to heaven. Although the poem had nothing to do with anything, it somehow made me feel a whole lot better. Turning to another page, I wrote again. And again. Writing felt so good. No, I didn’t figure out what career I wanted, but I did know that, one way or another, I wanted to be a writer. Knowing that writing might not reliably make a lot of money, I kept it as a part-time gig and kept trying to figure the rest of my life out. But I didn’t stop writing. More than anything else, I wrote poetry. The following year, I began writing a book on the life of one of my favorite heroes. Soon, my collections included short stories, articles, and others. Words were fun for me and English became my favourite subject.
One of my early frustrations with writing was the problem of getting readers. Family members were kind enough, but I wanted more. I needed to get out there. So a couple of months before my 15th birthday, I started a blog. I felt exhilarated—until I realized how much work blogging can be. I was clueless about getting followers or even how to blog effectively, but I was determined. And that’s what made the difference. I soon learned to use my blog as a portfolio of sorts. To be a writer, you have to write and show what you’ve written—or so I told myself. And that’s exactly what I did.
Blogging became a part of my life. It was my way of getting readers without having to get everything I wrote published. When I did publish my first book in 2011, I was so happy. Finally, I was no longer only a writer; I was an author as well. Shortly after, I produced my first e-book, a much cheaper, faster way to publish. No one was entirely surprised. I had been a scribbler and a bookworm from childhood—they knew I was happiest when dealing with pencil and paper. They weren’t wrong, I like to have my way with words. Whatever I can’t or won’t say with my tongue is said through my fingertips. It is my way to express, to learn, and to teach. I’ve been writing all my life