![]() I tried writing articles and other stuff, but none of it was satisfying my craving. In 2015, my longing to write more seriously started to gnaw at me. Occasionally, I’d publish an article or write poetry for myself, and I felt fulfilled just doing that. ![]() I loved talking about writing though and I loved sharing books with young people, so I became an English teacher. It seemed like too grand a thing to want. What if I couldn’t pay bills as a writer and wasted the college education my family had sometimes gone hungry to afford? More than that, I was too embarrassed to openly claim my dream. I come from a working-class background and the idea of writing for a living felt impractical. I wrote stories and poetry all through grade school and even college, but as an adult, I suppressed my dreams of pursuing professional writing. ![]() ![]() I added a sequel and then another and another until I had an impossibly long series. I knew I wanted to be a writer since the age of seven when I wrote a story called “Little Ballerina” and wasn’t satisfied when I finished writing it. (Excerpted from my feature on The Brown Bookshelf: 28 Days Later) ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |