Journal Entry 4: My Heart’s Desire

Ok gang I’m gonna try something with you all today and I want you to bare with me. I asked people if they thought I should get more personal on my blog and it was met with a resounding YES so I’m going to take a moment and really share here

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I have ALWAYS wanted to be a writer. I’m sure you’re thinking that’s old news but I really didn’t admit this to myself until I was in my 20’s. When I was six years old I wanted to be a surgeon. I would watch medical shows on TV and I was all over anything that was doctor related. I just knew that I was going to be a surgeon when I grew up. I loved taking things apart to see how they worked inside. My mother bought me the Operation game and I mastered that bad boy because I was going to grow up and being an amazing doctor some day. All of this changed the day I wrote a short story about a pig that was also a superhero that fought bullies. To this day I remember the look on my teacher’s face. I was only six years old, but I knew that something big had happened by the way she stared at me after I handed her that story. She smiled at me and asked me why I wrote it and all I could say was I don’t know. It happened again when I wrote an essay on what it would be like if I was a tooth and then again in the second grade when I wrote a story about a funny old man who lived in a town that did everything backwards and again in the third grade when I wrote my essay on the presidents and again in 4th, 5th, 6th, I think you get where I’m going with this.

By the time I hit 7th grade, the career of surgeon had become criminal defense attorney but deep in my heart I held on to the look that would come across a my teachers faces every time they read something I had written “just because”. It kept going on through the years. In high school I won awards for my short stories and poems and I filled notebook after notebook with my thoughts and prose and the best part was that I never got tired of doing it. But even as I filled page after page with my stories I had one thought ringing in my head : WRITER’S DON’T MAKE MONEY. The life of a writer is a life of struggle and at  young age I constantly called my desire to write a hobby and assured everyone that I was going to go after a “real” career.

When I was 14 years old I tried to write my first novel. It was garbage but I loved it because it was mine. It had my thoughts and it was my story but after only 100 pages I scrapped the whole thing. It was a terrible story and I knew it so I just let it go. When I was 16 I tired again and that’s when I wrote the first version of Lyons’ Girl. I hammered that story out in six months and I thought to myself now I am a writer, now everyone will understand what the secret desire that had marked me at a young age was really all about. It didn’t happen that way of course. Fear held me back even through a second novel and when I went to college I didn’t study creative writing, I studied psychology and even journalism. Those were practical majors…those were majors that could pay for my life. Writing was still just a hobby, but it had taken a hold of me and I couldn’t help submitting my work, I couldn’t help trying to get published.

So there it is. Everything I’ve done in my life as far as having a career has never been more important to me than writing stories. I am in grad school now but it doesn’t matter, I want to write. I just want to write

Yours Truly,

Amber Mosby “Forgive me if I don’t get excited…”

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