I’m not a politician. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a teacher. I’m not important. I’m not famous. I’m not cool. I’m just a writer.
Writing never used to be about responsibility. Writing was always my quiet rebellion.
Precious secrets spilled onto the chocolate-stained, tear-smudged pages of my tattered journal. I unleashed my thoughts, yet they were still protected from the rest of the world. They were safe from ridicule and reason, a stream of consciousness nobody needed to interpret.
About nine years ago I finally realized the impact of words. I attempted to become an Arts & Entertainment journalist for an alternative publication in a small city. I had no experience. I nearly begged to write for them, and for whatever reason, they let me.