The Birth of a Writer

A.K.A. The Moment I Finally Admitted, "I Am a Writer" 
by Laurie Epps

Writing isn't a glamorous profession, but it is fulfilling.

Life often isn't fair. Those who dream of being writers aren't, and those of us who really are writers have to fight to prove it—often to ourselves. Sometimes it's external, due to lack of support from friends and family. Or it's due to the input from those in the industry who sneer at you until your first full-length novel is published. But by and large we are a sensitive, unique, and observant lot. Let me share with you the moments that made me believe I am a writer.

Writers are often portrayed as glamorous. In movies, the writer is romantic, and either the sensitive lead, or the great looking shy guy or gal that has us mesmerized by their good looks. Reality is often cruel. If you're stricken with this urge to write I encourage you to take time for a Google search. Then you'll realize how little writers actually get paid for their craft. Much like other art forms, there is definitely a lot of competition and rejection out there. 

But if you must continue, know that somewhere under a pile of rejection letters a mile high, you'll find one publisher willing to look at and accept your work. But it takes patience. 

I am the little nerd holding the violin in front.
Atlanta Symphony Guild, 1976.

Here's my story. 
I was reading at a young age, so it was only natural that I'd start writing on my own to help me remember what I'd read. My first love was poetry, and I was inspired by a book of poetry I received when I was seven years old. Right away, I started writing the poetry I grew to love.

As I grew, books were my best friends. I spent my summers with my grandmother—a librarian in her small town in Texas. I daydreamed about being Jane Pauley on the Today Show and practiced reciting newscasts into my mirror. By the age of nine I was keeping a journal, and I still keep one to this very day. I wrote my first novel in middle school, but it wasn’t until recently I even considered myself a writer.

Fast forward. 
It was 2006, and we'd just pulled into our new driveway in Simpsonville, SC from Los Angeles, CA. My first few months in South Carolina were filled with optimism and dreams of quiet, simple family life. I hadn't even been here for three months when my first episode with my health happened. I had a massive tumor in my uterus, and I was going to require surgery that spring. My doctor told me that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant after this, so I didn't worry about it. But then it happened. I did get pregnant, and I prayed for a miracle, but didn't get it. This first miscarriage started a chain of events with my health, yielding me unable to work.

What's a girl to do? 
I persevered. I continued to raise my middle daughter, writing nearly every day. As a homeschooler, I got to meet other home-schoolers rather quickly. One of the moms would watch my daughter when I would have treatments as I either dropped her off, or picked her up. Normally, I didn't divulge that I was a writer to anyone. It was very personal to me. But, one day I told her of my writing poetry and journaling ways. Quickly, she recommended that I get in touch with Vonda Skelton. Vonda and Edie Melson, my mentor, directed our local writers group, the Christian Writers Den.

At my computer the day my short story was published 2006

For the next four years I had six surgeries, and three miscarriages. I wrote nearly every day in some capacity. You wouldn't believe it, but I still didn't think of myself as a writer. Vonda used to send this eBlast with lots of opportunities to get published. Edie would call and check on me if I didn't make it to a writers meeting. She's probably the first person who has ever referred to me as a writer, and was my biggest cheerleader when I got my short story "Tea Time With Bammy"  published.

Once my youngest was born, I moved further south into Anderson County. I'd received my associate's degree just before I left California, assuming I'd pick up where I left off, educationally speaking. I toured two colleges when deliberating where to get my degree. I was most strongly considering USC Upstate, and Anderson University. I got accepted into both, but chose to go to Anderson University since it was so much closer to home and had strong Christian values. I signed up for classes as a Public Relations major.

It quickly became apparent that I wasn't going to be a PR practitioner, or at least I wasn't going to get that degree from that college. I was called into the office by the Communications chair, and he told me that I wrote far too well to be practicing PR. This came from a professor who wan't one to hand out compliments. That week I changed my major from Public Relations to Technical Writing. 

Last summer I was selected to appear on Patrick Caneday's blog. Patrick Caneday has always been gracious, professional, and encouraging. Although Patrick was not the first to call me a writer, or to publish something I wrote, he was the first one who delivered the news to me that I was a writer where I heard it, and believed it enough to say, "I am a writer." Here's the link to my short story Drifting In and Out of Light.

Now I'm curious, When was the first time you accepted that you were a writer.

Join the conversation. The Write Conversation.

Laurie Epps is a non-fiction author, essayist, editor, and poet living in Anderson, South Carolina. A seeker of beauty, her is dream is to travel the world one day and tell their many stories. To read more of Laurie's stories visit her Thoughtful Thursday column dedicated to the art of Poetry at: http://1writerlaurieepps.blogspot.com