Monday, February 14, 2011

Love is in the Air

Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I thought it was only fitting to talk about love. I don’t mean the romantic kind of love usually reserved for this day. I will say that kind of love is often the source of inspiration for me and other writers. Instead, I want to talk about the love of something I do. You guessed it. I want to talk about my love of writing.

Writing is something of an inherited talent. My childhood is ingrained with images of my mother hunched over the kitchen table, and later her desk, dashing out her latest creation. Whether or not my mother has talent is up for debate as I’ve never read any of her work nor has she shared it with me. It’s only my memories that lead me to believe I’ve inherited any talent from her, but I’m getting off track.

Along with memories of seeing my mother write, my childhood is riddled with memories of me writing. I have this romantic notion that I’ve been doing it since the first time a pencil touched my fingers, but I can’t be certain of that. I still remember beaming with pride when my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Welch, taught me the proper use of quotations ahead of the rest of the class so I could use them in my stories she loved so much. In the sixth grade, my parents echoed that sentiment when I won a district wide writing contest for an essay entitled What Peace Means to Me.  In the seventh grade, I was too vain to be embarrassed when my English teacher wanted to read the class a story I'd written. I suppose I could go on and on banging my own drum. The point is my earliest memories involve writing. 

There is nothing I don't love about writing. From the first spark of an idea to the sound of my fingers flying across the computer keys, I love the process.  I like to create and be creative.  When I start a story, I usually have no idea where it's going to end so I love to see what unfolds. I love the control, and I'm not ashamed to say I sometimes end up falling for my male lead. I'm always a little sad when I finish a story and more sad when I finish a series of stories as I know it's all coming to an end. Then I realize it's time to start anew and my love for the process is reborn.  As I grow so does my love to write.  

So on this Valentine's Day, I hope you remember there are many kinds of love.  And I hope you have or will experience one of them. 

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