The Journey of a Frustrated Writer

               As a child growing up writing was always hard for me. I was the type of kid who trembled at the thought of writing, because I believed that my writing had to be perfect. I remember sitting down and crying when I was practicing my print, because it did not look like my mother’s handwriting. I often would become so frustrated that I would erase the paper so hard it would rip.  I was an avid reader and believed that I should be able to write just as well as C.S Lewis or J.R.R.  Tolkien and was frustrated when I could not.  At that time I did not realize that it took practice and dedication to create a story.  I soon found out that there were many things about writing that I did not understand.

               For instance, I did not know that it often takes time for a good idea to develop. It takes patience and maturity for an idea to fully grow. However, often times it’s the writer and not the idea that has growing to do.   This semester, I am going to challenge myself to write a story that has been on my heart for many years. I have found so many notebooks filled with four or five sentences that were discarded, because I could never find the right words to say. Often times my emotions were completely wrong, so I would abandon the story promising to come back to it at a later time. However, I never did. I began to think that I would never write the story, because I did not do it the moment the idea came to me. I would hear stories of people who had journals lying beside the bed in case inspiration came to them, and I would feel guilty.  I began to think that I could never be a writer.

                      As a child I loved storytelling, and I am told I had a very creative imagination. I remember the time when I was about four years old and a cat showed up in my yard. Still to this day, I am convinced that it was not a cat, but a very dangerous panther.

               Although I had this active imagination, my writing was dull and boring. I allowed my education to get in the way of my writing. I tried to conform to every other writer’s style but still felt like I came up short. My friend once told me, “Tabitha just write the way you talk to me, because you are writing this for me.” From that moment on my writing style changed and I found my voice. I learned that writing was a form of storytelling.

          Storytelling for me was fun and adventurous.  It was my way of leaving my world and stepping into someone else’s. When I read I was braver and stronger than I was in real life. It was a form of exploration, and I loved it.  I guess, eventually I became brave enough to start exploring in real life. When I am on missions trips all the guys flip a coin to see who has to go with me. It is not because I am a mean person, but it is because I am fearless and love to explore. I always hear something along the lines of these words: “Tabitha I do not think this a good idea. Maybe we should turn back. This is normally about the time in the horror movies when someone dies.” I always laugh and proceed with what I am doing without a care in the world. There have been some close calls while I have been exploring (a mad crazed dog, a mad crazed person and a few holes in the ground), but we always manage to just barely escape. I leave with my heart pounding with excitement and joy. While on the other hand, the other person is normally glaring at me and sometimes muttering something under his breath.

         However, through this journey I have learned that that is the sign of a writer. Ralph Fletcher says, “ The writer goes out into the world (or descends into the inner world) and returns with both fists clutching a mass of words, ideas and characters, places, stories, insights, possibly poisonous, hopefully not, and waves them, still squirming, still alive, before the started reader” (What A Writer Needs,  161).

             A good writer is someone who can turn the simplest things into a life-changing moment. They are not perfect, but they take what they are given and express it to the world.  Although I still sometimes dread writing a paper, I have learned that writing is a powerful tool, and without it, I am powerless.  I am no longer writing just for me, but I am writing for others. My story does not just affect me, but it affects others too.  If I am ever going to teach someone else to write I need to practice and learn to love writing. I do not have to be a perfect writer, but I must stay true to myself and allow my ideas to grow. Maybe one day I will be a published writer after all.