In Search of Sanity

I'm not sure when it was that I decided I wanted to write professionally, but I remember that the moment I realized it, everything changed. Gone were the days of simply wanting to tell a story. Replacing it was the need to tell the right story--- the story that mattered, the story that would change its reader for better or for worse.

I remember my fourth grade year, writing a "book" to amuse my friends. They were the cast, their lives highly exaggerated, and I was the puppeteer pulling the strings, trying to move them along with this new girl I created and force them into a world where they weren't exactly the stars. For the first time ever, I'd seen something through from beginning to end. I saw it in chapters and in words and in a hilarious way. I won many a callus writing the entire thing out by hand.

And even though I can't remember when it hit me, I woke up one day and decided I wanted to be an author. Not a writer. An author. I had been a writer since grade two when I wrote poems on the backs of my arithmetic tests, and penned short narratives for my friends in grade four. Heck. I was a writer (or a story teller which is what a writer is in their simplest form) when my friend Stephanie and I kept up the hugest (fictional) story of both of us attending an after school program called G.E.M.S. We piggy-backed off of one another on a weekly basis, retelling our adventures to anyone who was unfortunate enough to try to engage in our conversations. I wanted to move beyond writing. I wanted writing to be my craft, and story-telling to be my art. I wanted to be an author, and I wanted to be good at it. So I didn't sit back and wait for author to happen to me; I went out there in the big bad world and learned how to do it.

What I learned right away were the following three things: you don't have to be an adult to be an author, you have to write to be an author, and there are two types of authors--- published and unpublished.

Currently, I'm unpublished. Do I want to be published one day? Absolutely. That's the goal, I'm not going to lie, but I realize that in order to reach that goal, I had to actually write a book first. So I did. And I liked how that went so I wrote another one. And then I liked how that went and re-read the first one. It was terrible. I went back to the beginning and started from scratch, revamping a story I cherished and cared for and although it's better, it either A.) needs professional help or B.) should forever hold its peace.

And seriously, that's alright. Everything I've written has come to be because I wanted to write it. I didn't set a word to paper that, at one point, I wasn't absolutely proud of. I've just grown A LOT from point A (wanting to be an author) to point B (actually becoming one). Am I good at it? I'll be honest and say that's for the reader to decide. I've had people read and love my stuff, and others read and hate it. And since I simply write for my own sanity, what do I know about the quality? I make it a point not to compare myself to other authors because what I write is what I write. I KNOW it's not perfect, but it's a reflection of me. I'm not perfect, it's not perfect, and, for now, I'm okay with that. Like I do in my own life, I review, I analyze, I spot the problem, and I make a couple of changes. There's no harm in being wrong the first time as long as the second time around, we're definitely getting better and one step closer to amazing.

The truth is, the journey to finding myself here at Author Type II (the unpublished) has lead me directly and incidentally to finding me. I was looking for something, I think, in the realm of fiction to help me hide away from the things of the world around me, but, as with all good things, it lead me straight back around to the heart of what I was running from and made me face it, head on. I had to take a hard look at the things that were surrounding me and the person I was turning into because of circumstance and weak knees and I had to pull out a pen and show myself what was going on. In a way, I had to look at myself through the mirror. I had to use my words to see what was happening to me.

I think I'm just thankful to language, itself, for giving us an outlet--- a way to say what we mean and express how we feel. But I've always been thankful that writing kind of found me, because it's saved me from myself, from those ruts others talk about, and, ultimately, from being someone else. It's weird to say "I like myself," but I do. I like who I am. And I found all that through my quest for sanity; and I found sanity through a mess of words that let me untangle them long enough to see the light of day.

I hope writing's done something just as magical for you. I can't express how much I love hearing great stories about how words have changed someone's life, so if you have a tale for me, feel free to leave it in the comments.

'Til next time, Bloggers,
~Deserae McGlothen

You Never Forget your First...

Because yesterday was the first of the month, I wanted to share some of my own firsts with you. The list is short, but I feel that our firsts are more monumental than we make them out to be. Yes, I'm saying this is one of the VERY few things the human race takes way too lightly; the way we handle things, approach situations, make impressions, blah blah blah for the first time, is essentially pretty tell-tale about our character. And this, of course, got me thinking about my characters and my approach to writing and why I inadvertently have weaved in something that someone's never done into a major plot-point... it's because knowing that a character has never done something and/or seeing them do (that) something for the first time SHOWS us who that person is without telling us who they are. It's a cool thing, so I'm going to share a little with you today.

My First...
...kiss has never happened.
...blog follower is Elena Solodow who is also on Twitter and who I've come to find is a really cool person. I am very glad the blogosphere has people who are very into writing just as I am.
...story was about a girl who's cool best friend stole her crush.
...dance was the last dance I've been to. That was during the beginning of my sophomore year; I am now a senior.
...day of freshman year in high school was intimidating until I walked into my first class and saw this boy I vaguely knew from middle school. He and I became the best of friends and were inseperable until just recently. That first day was also a little uncomfortable because I was wearing a skirt and knee high socks (something I do VERY rarely) and a teacher called me out for the length of my skirt in front of everyone in the 300 Building. The worse part was I didn't even know him, but he must have known I was already self-conscious about that particular thing. Bleh.
...SAT Test went rather well, actually. I scored an 1800 the first go.
...serious crush was a boy in my fourth grade class who I knew liked me. I liked him back for three whole years, until he met Porche and I met Raven (who was a lot less cool than I thought he was).
...party (like party-party, not birthday party) was hosted by one of my younger sister's friends. The photo of me in the left side bar was taken there. She had a runway--- a runway!--- and I was invited to model. Very cool, very fun, and very unforgettable. There wasn't any alcohol or dirty dancing (you young kids... not all parties are about getting down with your bad self!)... it was just fun. I love having (controlled, adult-supervised, mature, G-rated) fun. Lol!
...memory may not really be mine (because my parents have burned this into my brain), but it's of my second birthday and Barney (yes THE Barney; purple dinosaurs do exist in nature if you know exactly where to find them and how much to pay them) was a guest. He was marching around our pool and all of us young ones were following him, but he lost balance and fell into the pool. I tried to fish him out and asked, "Barney! Are you alright?" From there, my memories begin.

Yes, Loves, our firsts are important. I bet, with all of this information, you can form a pretty interesting opinion of me. You're supposed to, though; you're supposed to see something about me in all of these instances. If you want to let me know who you think I am from this, or if you'd like to respond with some of your own firsts, drop them in the comments! I'd love to hear from you all. Anywho, I hope this got you thinking about who you are and who you'd like your characters to be. Thinking is always a good note to end on.

'Til later,
Deserae McG

P.S. Thanks to Elena, I am no longer talking to invisible persons. If you like what I have to say, I know you'll love her blog. The links are above; clickity click. And a special thanks goes out to her for thinking my ramblings were worth the follow. Smiles and love are virtually raining down on you; thanks for your support.