If I had lived hundreds of years ago I think I might’ve been one of my nation’s storytellers. 🙂 My tribe has the only written native language, so perhaps I would’ve begun the process of recording our stories. Then I would’ve been more than a storyteller, I’d be a writer.
That seems obvious, but bear with me. There are times when I hesitate to call myself a writer. If you love to write, you know what I’m saying here, don’t you? You’ve probably read a book/blog/status update/poem that made your heart sick. “Wow. That was excellent! Maybe I’m not a ‘real’ writer after all.”
Well, there is always gonna be someone brighter than you. Someone who never uses an incomplete sentence. I seem to be fond of those. ha
Someone out there uses proper punctuation, spells like a champ, and displays beautiful, vivid imagery with every word they type. No run on sentences for this guy. No way. He is an editors’ dream.
This writer captures you from the first sentence and holds you fast till the very end. You’re part of his story. You’re living it with his characters. You come to love them and miss them when the adventure is over.
Well, I’m not that writer. Not yet. I’m a grandma, mind ya. I’ve had practice. Practice, practice, practice. I write not because I’m the next Maya Angelou or Stephen King…but because I just can’t help myself. Besides, MY stories are only alive within ME. I am the only one who can give birth to them. All I can hope to do is nurture them so that they can grow up to be the best stories they can be without comparing themselves to anyone else. ha ha Hey, I’m a mom. That comparison was bound to happen.
Some of my best friends: the delete and backspace buttons, spell check, editors, friends who will listen to my story and give me feedback. People who inspire me. People who hurt me. (lessons to be learned) Teachers.
I didn’t even plan to blog about writing today, but I needed it to encourage ME. I read these posts, even ones written by VERY young (not as practiced) people, and feel a little embarrassed at my lack as a writer. BUT, you know, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all this time on Earth it’s not to focus on how far there is to go, but to remember how far I’ve come.
I don’t have much of a formal education, though Lord knows I tried to obtain one here at our little Community College. How I LONG for training and input as a writer. (Read read read read…)
Plus, since I’m raising grandchildren, I don’t have the luxurious time I once dreamed of having to write, learn about writing, read… I’m not complaining. These babies are far more important than anything I could create. I’m just saying that I’m tired. I don’t sleep much, so my brain won’t function the way I need it to if I want to write well. Also, I’m distracted. What? What do you mean you got your foot stuck in a jar? sigh. Ok. I’ll be right there. Honestly, I told myself not to even try to write again for another year or so, but passion wins over.
As a storyteller, I do OK. I think I’ll stay in that humble mind frame and just keep typing.