When I was eight there was just me and my imagination and I am pretty sure that even though I said I was going to be an architect or a scientist or a million other things, I knew I was going to be a writer. I remember sitting in Mrs. Strong’s grade three class and crafting stories. I thought they were hilarious, even more-so with ridiculous illustrations to accompany them.

I never quit writing but as I got older I danced around its edges. Truth be told, for a long time I was pretty sure I had nothing worth saying, so to get my fix I’d write the required essays for school and the offer to write essays for my friends. No joke, I actually did this. If I wrote a friend’s essay, the whole gang would leave me to nurture my inner introvert while they’d all go to a party and a bar.

In my 20s I started, tentatively, to try and put my writing “out there.” That turned into a career in journalism, which in-turn helped float all kinds of wild adventures, and eventually landed me on this island writing and editing the local newspaper for four years. This put a HUGE weekly deadline on me, it forced me to continuously find things to say and it gave me the chance to help my neighbours tell the stories that are most important to them.

 

The journey continues. Lately there is no shortage of mind-material that I want to put out there, but I want bust open my own boxes and write in new ways, find new tones and pitches for my “voice,” and truly dedicate myself to this craft.

 

Write Write Write

Read Read Read

Research Research Research

Write again…

 

To your writing,

Meribeth