How I Came Here

I am sharing how I came to be here, and I don’t mean here physically, but here at this point in my life. It was a journey of learning to accept who I am and what I want.

I have known that I wanted to be a writer since I was a child. I was, and have always been, fascinated with books. My favorite after-school activity was going to the library to pick out books to read. I was amazed by how people crafted stories and dreamt up worlds and characters out of thin air. I wondered where they got their ideas and marveled at an imagination that felt larger than life.

When I was eight years old, I received an assignment in school to write a story. I don’t remember what my story was about, other than it included bunny rabbits. We were asked to make drawings and bind them together. After I’d punched holes in the cardboard papers I had written and drawn my story on, I sowed it with yarn, and voila, I had written my first book. The most resounding thought in my mind was, “I can do this!”

As soon as I shared with my family, friends, and teachers that I wanted to write books when I grew up, I was met with disdain. I was told artists don’t make money, real-life is not for creatives, writing isn’t a real job, I would have to be really talented to make it as a writer, and the only way I would make it is by selling millions of books.