I love creating stories, but it wasn’t like this before–I mean before I realized I had the crazy mind of a writer.
I surely composed a few, or perhaps several, poems as a child. You know the kind that go something like this: “Maria’s shoe laces where so sad that her heart filled with sorrow; she promised she would always take care of them….” Yep, you know what I’m talking about. Actually, one of the main reasons I enjoyed writing poems as a child was because they always brought a smile to my mother’s face. So it was a win-win for me.
But then I forgot about the composer deal for years. In fact, writing as a career is a dream I never dreamed. Then I became a mother of a special needs kiddo plus a few other sweeties in the herd, and I felt super-duper overwhelmed. Yes, I know that sounds like a mommy talking, perhaps because motherhood is my first and most important profession. In between intense therapies for my child and trying to keep up with heaps of laundry, I struggled to keep it all together. And that is an understatement.
As a stay-at-home mommy with a busy diaper changing routine, taking kids to school, helping with homework, school and church service, preparing dinner, and in my case, literally trying to keep everyone safe and sound, it was chaos in every sense of the word. My life was insane. And I felt like I was going in that direction, too.
So I turned to creativity as a cure, or at least a kind of therapy. I decorated the house, constructed furniture, sewed dresses for my little girls, tried all kinds of new recipes, did acrylic and oil painting for some years, and even showcased my art at some local shows. But when the high winds of life hit my way and my child’s therapies intensified, I give it all I had. And that almost broke me.
Every morning I would wake up with the decision to make that day the best day of my life: it was going to be filled with love and crisis-free. But by five o’clock I was hiding in the bathroom kneeling as I cried, trying to find strength to finish the day and be the best mommy I could for my little ones. I was under so much stress that I became oblivious to my surroundings. For example, one day I went to the school district office to submit some documents. When I arrived, I remember looking up ahead of me as I walked to the office and, seeing a desk, went straight towards it. Then bam! I crashed into a glass wall. I thought, Wait… what just happened? Who put that glass wall there and when? To make matters worse, when I was done with my business, I turned to go back to my car and then guess what? Yes, bam! again. I thought someone was intentionally pranking me by placing glass walls in front of me when I wasn’t looking.
That’s when it hit me, and I don’t mean the wall glass. What hit me was the realization that if I didn’t manage to find an outlet I was going to lose my mind for reals this time.
So I searched and prayed and searched and prayed until one day, after several futile attempts of painting and sewing and who knows what else I tried–I can’t even remember anymore, I got hold of a novel, a historical romance novel to be more specific, and since I’m deep into the sea here I’m going to be entirely honest. My first thought was, “Historical romance? Holy smokes, who writes this stuff? It sounds absolutely boring. I don’t want to read this stuff; I don’t want to read at all.” But there was something for me to learn out of this novel. I couldn’t deny it; I knew deep inside of me that it was the answer to my prayers. So I opened the page and read, and read, and read, and by the time I was done, I had this idea in my mind growing like weeds under water, tangled in my brain. I was captive, there was no escape; the writer inside of me had awakened. And from that day on, this baby was not about to take any naps.
Now fast forward many years, and my family dynamics have changed drastically. I have fought many battles and can say that I have won many of them. My kids are growing up to be amazing people. And as for me, I have learned the nitty gritty of the writing craft. I have completed a novel, the first one in a series that I’m currently marketing for publication, I’m in the process of revising another one that I already have a publisher for, who asked to see the entire manuscript, and I have several other stories that are waiting to be written, some already plotted to the end and some in the idea incubator waiting to be born into full length beauties. I thank the heavens above for knowing me better than I know myself and for sending me what I needed when I needed it the most. Thanks to writing, I’m in a good place now: deep into the sea and living the dream I never dreamed.
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