Writing has been the best outlet I didn’t know I needed. From an early age I loved reading and the promise of adventure every book contained. I didn’t recognize what a gift my overactive imagination could be until I considered writing as a career.
I graduated from BIOLA University with my English degree more as a willingness to go through the college motions rather than a burning desire to attain the title. I spent five years after, lost in a world of sales and management. Happiness was temporary during this phase of my life and always fleeting. Promotions, raises, expense accounts all came but still something was missing.
When times were the darkest I would retreat into myself to write. Prior to this the longest work of fiction I penned was a novel I started in college but never finished. Now I was completing short stories during my limited amount of time away from work. The sensation was one of escape. I even managed to write my first book while working sixty-hour weeks.
Soon a choice had to be made. I could follow the money and continue on my current course or I could break away from the norm and begin the grueling journey to becoming a fulltime writer. I knew there wasn’t really a choice at all, only the illusion of one I had constructed.
I write now because I know I have to. Any other occupation would leave me empty and longing. Writing to me is a symbol of freedom. It’s complete control over every detail in the worlds I choose to create. Writing isn’t simply the alphabet on paper, it’s painting with words.
I have a peace now that I am following the purpose as to why I was put on this earth. It’s something I struggle to put into words. I’m lucky to have the thoughts of another author to fill my silence.
“The two greatest days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” – Mark Twain