I have always been into writing

Maybe it started in first grade when the writing teacher tasked us with writing and illustrating a hardback book. While I can draw a mean stick figure, there was no way that any picture in that book was going to be hung anywhere other than my parents fridge. Even then, they’ll be quick to take it down when guests come over to visit out of embarrassment. I knew if my drawing was going to lack, I would make up for it with my words.

It continued in 3rd grade Spectra class when I wrote a biography about Florence Nightingale. The project had very few requirements, a venn diagram and 3 paragraphs of important things that our historical figure accomplished. 8 year old me really liked Florence apparently. Because on presentation day, when everyone tapped their projects to the dry erase board, I proudly hung a 5 page synopsis.

I continued this hobby in high school and college, when I started to do journalism and where I was first introduced to my nemesis: word counts. I never understood why it was important to limit what was needed to be said. A story is story, right? You can’t leave out the important details. I would cringe every time an editor would critique my work and remove my “unnecessary” adjectives and “lengthy sentences”.

But one day, I stopped.

I am not sure why. Maybe as we continue down this road, we will learn together. What I do know, is that something about writing and putting to words the thoughts and feelings that live rent free in my head, is therapeutic. Regardless if anyone takes the time out of their day to read the silly words that I write, it helps me and that’s all that matters.

Maybe it will help someone else too.

So, it was this or therapy. I’ll make it there eventually.