I love stories. I love telling them, hearing them, and reading them. I always have, and yet it took me forty-three years to figure out that loving stories is the first, and most important job qualification for being a writer.
Maybe it took me telling a story of my own. Not just telling it, but writing it down. It was a crazy idea when I had it—that I would write a book about my daughter’s cleft surgery and her struggle with Apraxia of Speech—and I had no idea what I was getting into, but I jumped in and I tried.
After three years of writing and rewriting I finally finished it. Anna’s story and mine. And now I want more. I’ve discovered over the last three years that I love being a writer. I want to tell stories. Not just mine, but others as well.
For a year, I worked at a community micro-news site. I didn’t do it for pay—though I did accept a paid assignment when offered— I did it for the experience. I got to write about people I just met and I got to tell their stories.
It was a blast and I want to do more. That site is on hiatus for now, so I’m looking for other outlets. I have ideas—more about that later—but for now I’m going to keep writing. As stories come along, I will tell them.
For the experience, and I hope soon for a little bit of extra money too.
This is my latest contribution to “Five-minute Fridays,” a weekly blog carnival hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker (aka The Gypsy Mama). Today’s prompt is “Story.”