My life is summed up in a nutshell.
I'm the nut.
And I have many shells.
The shell I pull out today is that of a writer. I love to write. I need to write. And I want the world to read it.
I can't exactly pinpoint the date or origin of my writing-impulse. Perhaps it stems from my upbringing in a school that taught us to write with fountain pens, or that my Mom read to me all through my childhood, or that (despite repeated scoldings and discipline) I persisted in drawing/writing all over the walls of my house. But I secretly believe part of the desire emerged from the "one-year diary" my grandparents bought me, Christmas of 1996.
The first diary entry of my life is as follows:
December 23, 1996
"Dear Diary,
It is Christmas at Omy and Opa's house on Dec. 23. I got a diary and some beutiful clothes. Now it is Christmas night at Grandy's, I c...."
I never finished the entry. Stamina-wise, I didn't seem cut out to be a writer. Entry number two didn't show much promise either:
January 1, 1997
"Dear Diary,
it is Reubens birthday, He is turning six! Were going boling and having a huge turkey, well by!
Hello I am back. I got 2nd place on bowling. We had a huge turky diner with beans and patatos. well see ya later!"
Thankfully, my spelling improved over the years; however, it took quite a few journals until I wrote about more than just food and the day's events. Today, I still journal--a habit that became a necessity. I am currently on journal number 17 (don't ask where I keep the old ones. My lips are sealed and their pages are super-duper-glued). To process, some girls talk until their lungs collapse. I just write until my fingers shrivel up. Saves oxygen.
All this is to say I write and I can't stop. And so begins this blog. I already have one blog, called The Quest for Good Writing--a blog to aid young readers and their parents in identifying decent adventure/fantasy novels to read, through the help of detailed and Christian-based reviews (yes, this is sneaky promoting). But that blog limits me--I can only write about teen and young adult fantasy novels (or something similar to reading and that area of writing).
My dearest mother encouraged me to see what I already knew, but didn't grasp. I need a blog to just...write--to write about how I almost ran over a guy with my bike yesterday. To write about how a sunrise lasts for a maximum of 10 minutes and I can see it straight from my bedroom window. To write about how I sacrificed my own finger and blood to make the most delicious pumpkin pie this past October has ever tasted.
So here is that blog, cracking open the writing nutshell. Throughout my posts, it is inevitable that you--my beloved reader--will learn more about me. But for now you know my writing fetish. If you choose to follow my impulsive blurbs, I pray that you will have a fresh view of joy, laughter, creation, and the little things of life.
I'm the nut.
And I have many shells.
The shell I pull out today is that of a writer. I love to write. I need to write. And I want the world to read it.
I can't exactly pinpoint the date or origin of my writing-impulse. Perhaps it stems from my upbringing in a school that taught us to write with fountain pens, or that my Mom read to me all through my childhood, or that (despite repeated scoldings and discipline) I persisted in drawing/writing all over the walls of my house. But I secretly believe part of the desire emerged from the "one-year diary" my grandparents bought me, Christmas of 1996.
The first diary entry of my life is as follows:
December 23, 1996
"Dear Diary,
It is Christmas at Omy and Opa's house on Dec. 23. I got a diary and some beutiful clothes. Now it is Christmas night at Grandy's, I c...."
I never finished the entry. Stamina-wise, I didn't seem cut out to be a writer. Entry number two didn't show much promise either:
January 1, 1997
"Dear Diary,
it is Reubens birthday, He is turning six! Were going boling and having a huge turkey, well by!
Hello I am back. I got 2nd place on bowling. We had a huge turky diner with beans and patatos. well see ya later!"
Thankfully, my spelling improved over the years; however, it took quite a few journals until I wrote about more than just food and the day's events. Today, I still journal--a habit that became a necessity. I am currently on journal number 17 (don't ask where I keep the old ones. My lips are sealed and their pages are super-duper-glued). To process, some girls talk until their lungs collapse. I just write until my fingers shrivel up. Saves oxygen.
All this is to say I write and I can't stop. And so begins this blog. I already have one blog, called The Quest for Good Writing--a blog to aid young readers and their parents in identifying decent adventure/fantasy novels to read, through the help of detailed and Christian-based reviews (yes, this is sneaky promoting). But that blog limits me--I can only write about teen and young adult fantasy novels (or something similar to reading and that area of writing).
My dearest mother encouraged me to see what I already knew, but didn't grasp. I need a blog to just...write--to write about how I almost ran over a guy with my bike yesterday. To write about how a sunrise lasts for a maximum of 10 minutes and I can see it straight from my bedroom window. To write about how I sacrificed my own finger and blood to make the most delicious pumpkin pie this past October has ever tasted.
So here is that blog, cracking open the writing nutshell. Throughout my posts, it is inevitable that you--my beloved reader--will learn more about me. But for now you know my writing fetish. If you choose to follow my impulsive blurbs, I pray that you will have a fresh view of joy, laughter, creation, and the little things of life.
Like seeing the world through newly polished gas-station sunglasses.
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