I Don’t Want To Be A Writer…I Want To Be A Storyteller
I remember the first time I wrote a story. It was a short story, written when I was about 21 years old called the “Pizza Palace Conflict”. It was intended for young adults and centered around two girls who worked together at the “Pizza Palace”, who were vying for the attention of a popular boy. I had a typewriter back then, the kind where you grabbed a handle to reset it back to the margin. I recall my enthusiasm in putting the words on paper even though the “e” and the “s” keys kept sticking. Despite that enthusiasm, it wasn’t long after I finished the story I gave up on writing due to the demands of raising a family. It stayed at the back of my mind , resurfacing occasionally, and allowing me to have a dream.
Here I am now and although I regret all the time gone by, I know with certainty then was not the right time for me. I like to think I have more wisdom, better insight on how people react to situations, and most of all, am more grounded as an individual. Those things alone do not make a writer, this I know. Since starting on a novel approximately seven years ago, I have had all of the ups and downs a career in a high tech company can throw at you. Now that company is in Chapter 11, and my time there will end shortly. To that end I have not only pursued and finished my Bachelor of Science in Business Management, I drug out the seven year old novel, dusted it off, and sent it to an editor who said “REWRITE IT”. She was encouraging, but realistic. Who knows where it will go? I am 60,000 words into it, with about 5,000 to 10,000 more to go…as with many stories, the word count depends on how I want it to end.
My hope and dream is to be able to write something to make you, the person reading this say “wow”, and it is that thought that pushes me to write early, late, whenever I can. While I am re-writing the dream of what it might be, could be stays with me. And still…I am afraid it isn’t good enough.