I’ve been thinking about a certain question a lot, but today for some reason the answer hit me like a sack of bricks. The question is this: When did I decide that I wanted to be a writer? I mean, authors always seem to have that one spark of inspiration that started it all for them. They can identify a very specific novel or story they read that made them go “Wow, this is what I want to do.” For me, though? Not so much.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m inspired by a wide variety of novels and authors. JK Rowling, Oscar Wilde, and Richelle Mead, to name a few. An eclectic group, I know, but I am who I am. But the difference between me and most writers, it seems (I would never be pretentious enough to think that I’m the only writer like this), is that I never had that moment where I thought to myself “Wow, this is what I want to do.” So, then, how did I get into writing if I never had that moment? Has this whole experience been a lie? Am I really not meant to be a published author someday?
Well, no. At least, I hope not. The answer I came to today was this: I didn’t have that one moment because the love of storytelling has been in me since before I can even remember. Maybe I was born with it (Maybe it’s Maybelline). The funny thing is, I feel like I’ve known this answer for a long time. Hell, on the “About Me” section of my author website I literally talked about how I was writing stories before I even knew how to write. But today I guess it really hit me that that was the answer to my question. When did I decide that I wanted to be a writer? I didn’t. Somehow, being a writer decided that it wanted me. Did I know what being a writer or an author even meant back then? Nope. But still I knew that it was what I was meant to do. And, sure, I strayed off of the path a few times, deciding that I wanted to be an actress or a rock star or a detective, but the important thing was that I always came back around to author. I wanted to be an author. I was meant to be an author. Not because of some book that inspired me, not because of some whim, but because it was inside of me. Simple as that.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just being a romantic now, but to me that’s honestly how it feels. It’s a cool feeling, too, knowing that there was just something always inside of me that I was meant to do. And I’m not trying to knock or ridicule anyone who decided to become a writer because they were inspired by someone else’s work. That’s a great way to realize that you’re meant to be a writer. I’m also not saying that someone who had to have a spark of inspiration to become a writer wasn’t born with a love of writing. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that I’m just glad I finally understand where my personal love of writing comes from. For me, it comes from my core. My soul. My imagination and I are one being who have been together from the moment I came into existence, and my need to share the creations of my imagination came to be as soon as I understood the concept of sharing ideas.
If destinies really are a thing, then maybe this is mine.