by PL Finn

Created on: June 21, 2010   Last Updated: July 03, 2010

I discovered my writing ability when I was a young girl.  At that time, I was a bookworm, shy and plain, with serious skin allergies.  I didn’t have many friends because most kids wouldn't get too close for fear I was contagious or were too busy making fun of my discolored and scaly skin.  Eventually, I outgrew this affliction but remained withdrawn.  I enjoyed reading books and loved crafting stories where I was the smart and popular main character.  In school, my essays and compositions received the best grades and teachers often complimented me on my writing skills.

On my sixteenth birthday, I got a small portable typewriter as a Christmas gift.  Admittedly, when mom gave it to me, I was deeply hurt because my young sister and brother had both received three-speed bicycles.  By spring, though, that typewriter had become so valuable to me.  It was nothing for my family to find me pounding out a story whenever an idea hit, even in the middle of the night.  My sister and I shared a bedroom and the tap-tap-tap of that typewriter always woke her up.  But she never complained.  In fact, she was my biggest supporter.  She would sit up in bed and immediately reach for the completed typed pages.  She would read faster than I could type and would wait in suspense until I finished a page.  This would go on for hours until I ran out of steam.  Thinking back on that now, she was a great motivator and her enthusiasm kept me creating stories and poems. 

When I married and my kids were born, writing took a back seat.  Sometimes I found a second to jot down an intriguing name, sketch a character description based on some stranger I had met during the day, or outline a quick plot.  But, I didn’t pick up my writing again for years. 

Then one day, life slowed down.  The kids were grown and gone with families of their own.  There was only my husband, our finicky cat, Gabby, and me.  While cleaning a closet one day, I stumbled on an old story idea I had started but never finished.  I immediately found myself sitting down, putting pen to paper and seeing where this thought would go.  I never finished cleaning that closet.     

 Today, writing is my passion and I devote as much time as possible developing and perfecting my craft.  I have completed a couple of short stories, entered a couple of writing contests, and taken several writing courses.  It feels good to finally get back to what I have always loved.  I think of myself as a writer and I believe in my writing.  I am a writer.   

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