Writing about writing

I come from a large family filled with engineers and doctors.

My dad, once a nurse now a top rated hospital consultant.
My mom, once a stay at home mom now going back to nursing school.
My brother,  once a video game addict (still a video game addict) now studying computer science and works on developing Android apps.
My sister, 13 years old and still figuring it out, has dreams of becoming a biomedical engineer to help develop new technology in prosthetics.
Me, once a kid with dreams of being the star of a novel now writing those novels.

I was destined to be a nurse or an engineer. I couldn't be a geologist. I couldn't be an actress. I couldn't be an astronomer. I couldn't be an astronaut. I couldn't be a writer.

It is nice growing up with family members that have common sense. They taught be the importance of thinking logically and realistically. But sometimes my dreams were just too unrealistic for them. But now for me.

I got over wanting to be a geologist, an actress, an astronomer, an astronaut. Those were phases. Exciting phases I may add, but just phases. But at the end of the day I would always find myself writing about those things. I would write about what it would be like to be an astronaut, discovering dimensions of the universe no one even knew exsisted. I would ponder on for pages and pages of text of what winning an Oscar would be like. I would write about what I wanted to do. It was the only constant.

I would constantly be told no. I couldn't be or do all the things I wanted. It wasn't realistic. The chances were too slim. I wouldn't make enough money.

But it didn't really matter. I was young enough. I still had time to think of a new dream and new goals to set. But I would still be upset. I would still be riled up about being told no. I had a problem with authority, I didn't like being told no.

So I wrote about it.

I wrote about it and I wrote about this and that and that over there. I wrote about everything. And that is the only thing that stuck with me. Friends came and went. And family was unpredictable for a while. But through it all I had a pen, paper and ideas. Or a computer and a keyboard if we are talking modern day.

And still to this day I write about everything. Big or small, silly or meaningful I still write about it.

It fills me up like nothing else does and it gives me the sense of accomplishment and meaning that nothing else in my life has ever given me.

People told me a couldn't be a writer. They thought I was too flimsy to make it in this writer eat writer world. But what they failed to understand is my undying need to win everything and prove everyone wrong (I blame my mother for the stubbornness).

Yet here I am at 19-years-old with a blog I have kept up for over a year and articles published in over four publications.

I still have a long way to go. There is still a lot I want to do to rub into people's faces before I give up my stubborn crown to someone else.  But I'm glad I didn't fall into the pattern of my family or  choose to be an engineer or a doctor, because the utter joy I get when I see my name in print or I click the publish button far outweighs the few extra bucks I would be getting if I was "successful."


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