by myname

Created on: June 11, 2008

In high school I one of those average' students that teachers, nor my peers for that matter, had no great expectations for. My mind was preoccupied with other things my senior year, and the last thing that mattered was an English teacher who called my dad to say if I don't get my grade up, I don't graduate. Twenty years hence I recall a moment, one might even say of clarity, where there may have been hope for me. That same teacher was reading an essay from those collected the previous week. After reading she pointed out the passion and perspective behind the piece, and then she named the student who wrote it. The name wasn't the future valedictorian or straight A student with the full-ride to Stanford, it was me.

I don't recall what the paper was about, nor remember even writing it. But I do remember being as shocked as my classmates at hearing my name come out of Mrs. G's mouth.

As with most who experience self-discovery or even self-awareness there is a catalyst that sets off a series of events that bring you to that point where you should be or need to be to feel right, despite the obstacles. For me, there have been many, yet only one caught my attention, the catalyst. It was last summer. My girlfriend's father, whom I had just met, and had known me as a financial planner though not how bad I was, asked me what my passion was. I was taken aback. No one has ever asked me that. He didn't care what I did, he cared about what I wanted to do. Without thinking I said I wanted to write for a living. I think he liked that. This successful surgeon, later that night, showed me the artwork he waited decades to paint.

Later that year, realizing I was not going to make it as a financial wizard and knowing I wasn't going abroad again to make big money and miss out on love and life with another, I decided I should start writing for real, and maybe even money. To date, meaning just 2008, I've made almost $500.00 as a writer.

Over these past twenty plus years I've written bad poetry, satirical commentary on every issue you can imagine, serious papers on personal topics that many shy from and humor filled stories that only teenage boys or middle age guys at the pub with a kitchen pass can appreciate. I've even come close to finishing the better part of a fiction novel over the last six months, after previously unsuccessful attempts. Mostly I've kept these to myself. Some I've shared with those who already know me as a crazy, emotional, passionate Americano.

However, I've never been confident enough to submit for publishing, to publish or even post under my own name on the web, these writings.

Yet still, you haven't gotten a direct answer from me yet have you? When did I realize I wanted to be a writer? Now, when I decided to hit the button here and tell the world for the first time.

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