I started writing to give voice to the creativity that was clawing at my soul. It gave me an outlet when there was none. I had started out in art school but decided I needed a career that would pay my bills a bit quicker than art. It didn't prepare me for the work I ended up doing full time that wasn't creative-nursing. Before I could find something else, after ten years of marriage a baby came along.
For a brief time, I lost myself. My days were filled with trying to adjust to a new life, I stayed at home, but was unable to go out--the baby was sleeping, everyone else was working and my income was reduced over fifty percent(no shopping, no traveling). I gave all I had to my family-cooking, cleaning, laundry, entertainment (I've lost count how many times I sang all the nursery songs) and I gave it willingly, but I felt like I was in hell.
Than I found it. Writing.
Creating a story was something that gave voice to what I had swirling inside, the people, places, adventure that always drifted through my imagination. Oh, it wasn't pretty at first, but gradually it grew and a story was finally down on paper. I became a writer.
Writing saved my life and soul.
It sounds melodramatic, but it did. Writing gave me purpose and finally I felt I had something else to offer the world. Better yet, when I wrote and let what was trapped have a voice, I found myself a better person, mother, wife, friend, daughter, and sister.
What has writing done for you? Is it something that calls you? Saves you? Inspires you? Tell me...