Telling My Story

As early as age 10, I knew that I wanted to be a writer. My mom had taken me to see Maya Angelou. I listened to Maya Angelou’s voice as she read some of her poetry and I fell in love with what I knew in my heart I could do. I loved writing poems and short stories.

When I was a senior in high school, I was one of four finalists eligible for a Journalism scholarship. In applying for the scholarship I had changed, “I want to be a writer” to “I want to be a “Journalist.”  When asked, “What type of Journalist?” I didn’t really know.  I didn’t want to be a broadcast journalist and I didn’t want to be a writer that had to go after a story. I just wanted to write; but I also wanted that scholarship. Winning a scholarship would have been a great honor to my family as well as setting a path for me to follow. Not getting the scholarship was my first failure and the first time I didn’t see the path so clear.

At age 17, I went away to college pursuing the degree in Journalism.  I was quickly absorbed by the fun of living on “my own” and quickly uninspired by the lack of Journalism classes in my freshman curriculum.  I barely made D’s in Biology and Math. I believe I failed or was dropped from a Business class – simply because it was scheduled at 8am and I rarely made it there – ever. I got a B in Bowling and Freshman Orientation. My ONLY A was in my writing class.  At the end of my freshman year, I was on academic probation. My parents’ ultimatum, “You can go back if you pay for the next semester. We aren’t paying for you to get grades like that.” 

Second failure.

I found a job in the area and worked that summer while staying with relatives.  I wasn’t mature enough to appreciate what it cost for my parents to send me to school until I had my own money and was “saving for a semester of school”. Having money burned a hole in my pocket. I couldn’t wait to spend it on something.  When I decided I wasn’t going to have enough money to return, I bought a word processor with what I had left. In 1989, I paid about $500 for this seemingly 50-pound piece of equipment through a mail order catalog and proceeded to write my first book with it.  The book was about college life and someone I had fallen deeply in love with – the real reason I wanted to stay. It was complicated enough that I believed it was a great start for a book.

I was back at home with my word processor trying to write, without any ambition as to what I would do with it when I was done. One day I was moving the word processor from one place to another and the keyboard snapped off. It was attached, not a plug in.  Now it was a 50-pound piece of junk. Of course I didn’t get a warranty on it, and certainly had no idea where in China it came from.  It was the kind of electronic you would find in a Sky Mall magazine and never see anywhere else. My book was trapped on a floppy disk that was not formatted for anything that later came out. Believe me I tried countless times to find a way to get the content off the disk. 

Third failure. 

I was 18 years old and back at home after an unsuccessful 1st year at college. I wasn’t going back to school, so I had to find a permanent job. I began working in the insurance industry, where I would still be 19 years later.

After I lost my first book to that 50-pound $500 piece of crap, I cannot recall and do not have a record of writing anything other than a sad journal entry until 2002.

This post is "a written record of the pieces that make up my story" linked up with "Who I Am" hosted by Dana of Kiss My List and Bev of Linkouture.