How Writing Became My Passion
Like many, I had a difficult childhood, hardly any friends. I was the classic bookworm, the geeky girl that no one noticed, except maybe for being the joke of the day. Sometimes even the teachers picked on me. Things like this became the norm and eventually who I was. Bad at sports and had no musical talent, so I turned to books. I know it can sound pretty pathetic, but I always preferred the company of a good book instead of trying to fit the stereotype of what my peers tried to impose as “in”.
Finding the Beauty of Books
I learned almost everything from books. One thing I was sure of , that there was nothing I wanted to learn from my environment. So I picked up some books and started to read. Believe it or not the first book that I read cover to cover was “The Divine Comedy” - by Dante Allegiery. I was 12 years old, I had to hide it underneath my mattress. I fell in love with the written word. Even the words that were alien to me, raised a curiosity that I still have today when I pick up a book.
When Writing Became My Escape
It’s easy to imagine how a kid with no friends or people to talk to, turns to writing. A simple notebook was my best friend for a long time. I would write poetry, short stories and of course a very detailed diary. As I entered Junior High, I got more exposed to different kind of genres and authors. Spending most of my free time on writing and researching material for my papers. One day by accident, I left my notebook in the classroom were a classmate found it. That was the beginning of my unofficial career as a ghost writer.
The Freshman "Ghost Writer"
I smile remembering how much of my work would be circulated at my school by the end of my freshman year. At any given time, ten or twelve papers on different kinds of subjects were being graded and winning competitions on the school grounds baring the name of other students, but written by me. By the time I was a Junior, I had a reputation as a ghost writer that reached two college campuses. At first, I was doing this for free. Later on, as the stakes rose and the complexity of the work increased in difficulty, desperate students would give me money for a personalized paper and a tutorial on how to present it. It made me feel important, and at the same time I could never claim ownership of anything. I was still alone. The Goth nerdy girl, with ten different senior projects to choose from, with the guarantee to get an A.
Believe it or not, I never got caught, nor did the clients. I am not proud of it. But at the same time, it gives me a sense of accomplishment. Six poetry contests, 26 dissertations, 16 term papers, 12 thesis, 3 doctoral thesis before I graduated High School. ( One of them published) With a broken down typewriter and a note pad, living in the library. The only problem was to customize the papers to the style and personality of the student, including their level of education and knowledge on the subject. I was still a weirdo, an outcast. I didn't care about that, I was writing. And in essence no one knew it.
The Girl With Nothing To Say
Valentine's Day was the busiest time for me, but not in the way I would want. Boys would pay me five dollars to write a personalized poem for their girlfriends. Even a teacher contracted my services to write a sonnet for his fiancée. All this attention from people made me wonder why my own family could care less about my interest. It was when one of my poems got published in a local paper that they noticed, for five minutes. By then, I had over a hundred drafts in notebooks in my closet. I was so depressed and so isolated that the only thing that kept me going was putting my feelings and thoughts on paper.
In my first year of college, I got sick and had my first heart attack and a mild stroke. My life changed forever. As my health deteriorated, so did my writing. So I stopped.
Are you writing to fulfill a dream?
Seeking My Voice, Again
As the years progressed, so did my conditions. With each passing year, new challenges and new reasons to record what I have seen and gone through. About two years ago I was back in the hospital because of my heart. I asked a nurse for some paper and a pen so I could write a letter to my children. That letter was the catalyst I needed to write again.
It kept me from what was going on with my health and alleviated the stress of my situation. I write to bring a voice to those that, like I had something to say but no one listened. I don’t care about recognition, just the peace that writing brings to my soul.
The day My Pen Stops
I want to be able to tell my story. To put on paper my struggle and my triumph over the many obstacles that plagued my life. To bring someone, somewhere the hope that every person needs to keep fighting. The day that my pen stops writing, I can be at peace with the girl that had something to say and no one knew that she lived.
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