Does This Blog Make Me A Writer?

I’ve let this whole project/blog/thing fall by the wayside, haven’t I?

In the past few months I’ve really considered shutting the whole thing down. But something always makes me pause and want to start again. I write a few things and save them in my ever expanding draft file. Then life gets in the way and I start the whole cycle all over.

The thing that keeps me going is that I really do love writing.

It’s an ache that sits inside me, constantly waiting. Gnawing at my brain day and night.

I’m proud to say that, if anyone cared to ask, as a child I was known for always having my nose in a book. From the time the question “What do you want to be?” was asked of me (which seems to be younger and younger as the years pass) I have always said “Writer”.

Even when most were declaring superhero or princess, my dream was to write. I would sit and scribble lines in whatever discarded notebook was lying around when I was too young to know how to create words.

And now here I am.

35 years old and what am I doing?

Usually…not writing.

I have journals filled with story synopsis’ and quickly scribbled half thought out ideas. I always try to start the whole NaNoWriMo but usually forget about it half way through the month.

Sometimes I write and write but lose the nerve to publish.

The years I thought would have been filled with writing out my books were instead spent raising children and trying to find my path in a middle class world that was slowly bleeding into poverty.

In this day and age there is always something someone NEEDS and therefore anything considered a want feels superfluous. Even when that want is time and space.

So I keep this little corner of the internet for now. This little page of space.

And I hit “Publish”.