The sight of school supplies lined up in boxes in colorful store displays brings back memories. There is something magical seeing those pencils sharpened and ready to write new words and stories. It’s a writer’s dream. Even when I was a grade school student, I loved the colors and feel of pencils. Later, I became obsessed with pens and have boxes of them stashed in my office supply closet.
They contain possibilities. Words still unwritten. Stories begging to be released.
It all started back in fifth grade when I had Mrs. Van Husen as my teacher. I loved reading, but that was the year I learned I could write my own stories and be entertained by the process. Mrs. V allowed us a free period where we could play a game, read a book, do a puzzle, draw, or pick a card from a small box on the corner of her desk. I was obsessed with those cards. They contained opening lines followed by an ellipses. Some described a character and situation. Others offered a scenario with a question. They were story starters, prompts, and they felt wondrous to me.
Every day I would slip another card from the deck and write. I was one of few people in my class to choose writing over games. One of the only ones to lose myself in a story of my making. It felt powerful and exciting. I was in control. I chose what happened next. I determined my characters’ fates.
It is that same headiness I feel now when I sit down to write—that surge of joy at figuring out the next turn in the story, the next obstacle to overcome.
Writing demands so much from we writers—creativity, imagination, energy, fortitude, determination, logic. But it offers wonder in exchange.
Hold on to that wonder. Cling to the joy of a story coming together. It will keep you together during the middle slump and the inevitable rejections you’ll encounter along the way. The magic will sustain you during the tougher times, making the journey worth it no matter the outcome.
I owe a lot to Mrs. Van Husen. She taught me how to love writing. She showed me how to have fun with stories. She wasn’t my only teacher to contribute to my fate. My father was a master storyteller who could turn a trip to the dump into a grand adventure. My favorite authors wove stories that stuck with me through my formative years and beyond. My poetry professor in college instilled in me a love of words and description. Even the Mouse (yes, the famous one named Mickey) taught me how to enchant with words while still appeasing the legal team (not an easy feat, mind).
Every year when school begins, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and am filled with energy for my work. It helps me remember why I chose this career and why I wouldn’t want to do anything else.
What is your motivation to write? What moves you to weave stories or craft sentences for your pay? Figuring that out will help you weather the hard days and help settle the anxiety and doubts writers face along the way.