When I was thirteen, someone gave me a blank journal for my birthday. I remember this birthday very well; 11 April fell on Easter that year, and Lori, my best friend from summer camp, was allowed to sleep over and spend the holiday with us. Lori was Jewish, so this was a whole new experience for her.
Since I was a kid, I've had three creative goals to complete in my lifetime:
write a novel, compose a ballet, and learn to play the violin.
Anyway, so I received this blank journal. That night, I decided to try my hand at writing a poem, and I thought that it turned out pretty well. I submitted that poem to a contest, and it ended up being published in an anthology. Feeling more confident now, I also submitted that poem to a teen magazine, and it was published there as well. Rapid success inspired me, and throughout high school I wrote hundreds of poems, and had many of them published. This is something about me that just about no one knows, not even my family or my friends from high school. Most of what I wrote dealt with my home-life, and it wasn't exactly pleasant. I've never let the people close to me read my work, preferring only strangers to know my deepest thoughts.
I kept writing poetry through college, and branched out into short stories through some classes there. In the end, I graduated with a degree in Communications, concentrated in Creative Writing. Since then, I've barely written anything, other than this blog, of course. But I still have all of the journals that I filled over the years, and sometimes its great fun to go back and read them.