Why I write

So we have a girl coming on Studio 5 next week named Lindsey. I found her blog and on it she talks about why she wanted to be a writer. I thought, man this blog sounds alot like my life. I get up and go to work at 2 jobs that I enjoy at times, but nothing has inspired me more than writing. At this important phase in my life I am struggling to find work that I have a true passion for; work that I would go to work for free for. Though I will never give up writing, I wish I could just get paid to blog in the real world.

Every passion has a spark that starts it, for me, writing began as soon as I was able to write. I remember sitting at Salt Lake Institute, always the last child at the table slowly writing my daily plans into a black and white steno notebook. I was the slowest, I could not spell and many of my letters were backwards. It was frustrating, but I wrote.
In my free time I would write my own stories alone and with my friends. In 2nd grade my friend Kate and I wrote a story about a boy who lived on Free Willey's the killer wales back in a bubble. It was a terribly creative plot for 2 small girls but it was our world and we loved it. Things came to life in stories, things I could not create otherwise.

I owe my writers fire to two teachers I had in my life: Ms. Kenner my 5th grade teacher. She had a write stories often. I liked using the National Geographic magazine pictures and making up the stories behind the images. I wrote one story "Gonna and the Salmon Ceremony" and it was the most ridiculous thing I have ever read, but I loved doing it. Kenner said I had a way with words, a real talent and to never stop writing. She gave me many opprotunities to write and helped improve my vocabulary to be a better writer.
The other teacher was Ms. Alsop my 7th grade english teacher. I wrote things in that class that she said were impressive and that I would one day be a famous writer. I believed her. I still believe her. She taught me about the short story, detail and character development. She moved my from regular english to honors. I felt I could do now what so many said I could not in the past.
I have dreamed of being a writer for over a dozen years now. Is that not amazing? If only to say you had a dream, an ambition, a purpose for so long?
What a beautiful thing, words. So much nothing that when put together just right becomes everything you could ever need or want. Words are it. They are all we have. They advance society, they slow it down, the move what could not otherwise be moved. They heal what is broken and they transcend time. Thats the key. Transcending everything. Writing has the ability to totally capture a person, a soul, a mind, a heart and yet be so outside of them, its not even them at all. Make sense? I doubt it.
It doesnt matter. These words are mine. They can mean somthing to you if you let them. If not, they are still mine. perfectly endlessly flawed.