When I was a little girl, I had a fascination with books. I also had a fascination with writing, and all that came along with it. I loved notebooks and pens, and at any given time was writing stories and poems.
I loved getting lost in my stories. They would always be about a girl my age, and ranged from finding love to spending summers in a lake house. Some I modeled after myself, some I just made up. And most were deserted after only a few chapters, for I would get caught up in dance or school or whatever it was that I was doing at that certain age.
The coolest thing about being in 8th grade was that we got to answer little questionaire-bios about ourself that went into the yearbook. Being a big fish in a small pond was exciting, and it was always fun to look at what the 8th grader’s dreams were.
When it came to mine, I answered the questionairre in a clear, embarrassing fashion, noting favorite songs that are now ridiculous, nicknames that I was never called, and quotes that are meaningless in this day. However, there was a section for future plans, and I stated that ‘when I grew up,’ I’d be a writer.
I was always superb in English (please don’t grammar and spell-check my previous posts), interested in History, and a complete failure in math. I always thought I would major in some sort of creative writing or communications. Everyone thought that I’d major in creative writing, or something of the sort.
Somewhere along the way, once high school had began and I was involved in more social activities, interested in boys, and completely obsessed with myself, I stopped writing. I didn’t write for fun anymore, mostly because I didn’t have the time. When I had decided on a college and had to choose a major, I clearly remember my mom saying ‘Why not English? You love to write.‘
In what I’m sure was a terribly snotty voice, I replied ‘Why English? I never write. I used to write. English is boring.’
And that was that.
I went in as a History major, changed to Physical Therapy for all of 3 seconds, and then into the Business school I reluctantly went. I say reluctantly, because there really wasn’t anything I wanted to major in. By this time, I had known since I was about 16 that I wanted to be a personal trainer. My dad convinced me that if I got my degree in Business, it would make me an even better trainer. And with the risk of sounding like an ego-maniac, I think it did.
I still excelled at writing. Most of my papers were usually graded with A’s, even the one’s that I didn’t put much work into. It just seemed to come easily to me, and writing a paper was never something I dreaded. In fact, I always looked forward to it.
Almost immediately after graduating, I was a certified personal trainer and threw myself into my job. I LOVED it. I loved spending all day with people and helping them achieve their goals. I loved changing their lives. I worked constantly, because in order to make the kind of money I wanted without having your own studio, you need to work constantly. So I did, and I loved it.
I’ve written about it before, but I left my full-time personal training job for something else a few months ago. I never, ever wanted to talk about it on my blog, but the position I am in has left me completely and utterly miserable, and feeling like I barely knew myself these past few months.
One night in August, we had some family over and I was crying, complaining, moaning, groaning and every sense of the word about how I just couldn’t take being in this job. My mom said ‘You just need to write. You need a writing job. You are so good at it.’
Now this time, I really looked at her like she was smoking something. I mean, it had been years since I had voluntarily written anything for fun. I think at the time I just heavily rolled my eyes and shot daggers at her.
But days later, I did it. I started my blog as a result of boredom and desperation to do something that I enjoyed. I had no idea what kind of blog it would be, but knew that I loved to cook, loved fitness and helping others, and just needed to get some words out.
I didn’t tell anyone for a few weeks, then gradually told my husband and a few friends. In this thing we call ‘blogging,’ I found myself again. I found a part of myself that had been gone for such a long time – as in years. I realized how much I absolutely love to write. Sitting on the floor one morning before work, it just hit me. I need to write. It is what I need to do. What I want to do. What I love to do.
That evening after work, I stopped at my parents house. I had sent my blog link to a family friend and knew my parents would be seeing it that night . I just needed to see my mom. She was really the only one who ever ‘knew’ the writing ‘me.’ The Jessica that loved to write, that did it for fun, that did it in my time off. My husband had never known me as a writer – if anything, I was the complete opposite. I knew she would understand.
Sitting in her kitchen, I tried to find the words, but all I could do was cry. The only words I remembered saying were ‘I want to write so badly that I feel like I could explode!’
And that is exactly how I feel. How I still feel. I WANT TO WRITE SO BADLY I FEEL LIKE I COULD EXPLODE. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly in my entire life.
Except for the shoes I wanted last week at Macy’s, the scarf I wanted last night at Burberry, and the cookies I wanted at Whole Foods today.
I kid. Sort of.
With no professional training or classes, I don’t even know how to do it. Of course, I’ve been googling my head off, doing my research, and praying like crazy. But I still really don’t know how. I’d love to get some freelance writing jobs. I know that it is difficult in this economy, especially for someone who doesn’t have much experience or anything written of importance. I also know that it is difficult to ‘make a living’ with writing, but that isn’t necessarily what I’m looking for. I don’t even know if I am good at writing, but I want to get better.
I just want to write. SO badly – I can taste it!
If you have read this much (thank you! :)) and you have any sort of suggestions for me, please help. Through googling (literally), I have discovered that I would need to write a ‘query’ and send it in to basically ‘apply’ to get a freelance article written. That is pretty much all I know as of right now.
And if you have read down this far, I hope you know that blogging has really changed my life. It means so much to me that you take the time to read this each day.
I feel better. Thank you.