The One Where I Talk About Why I Became a Writer

It started with a simple question. I was in Seattle, Washington for the summer, working as a summer camp counselor and spending my time off with family. In the car, driving over the Mercer Island Bridge, my cousin asked what I wanted to do with my life.

I’d gone to school to become a teacher, but that hadn’t worked out for myriad reasons. I’d majored in Humanities in college (and done a fifth year masters for education) – I didn’t really know if I had many options. But my answer was immediate: I want to be a writer. Her reply: So you’ll go home and do that.

And I did. I went home to Las Vegas, went to the library, and picked up all the freebie newspapers and magazines sitting in the foyer outside the checkout desk. Most of those were dead-ends, but one looked promising: David Magazine - a Jewish city lifestyle magazine that had just launched.

I reached out to the editor, inquiring about freelance writing opportunities. There weren’t any, but they needed someone to do the monthly events calendar, with the catch that there was no pay attached to this role. As I was just beginning my writing career, I jumped at the opportunity and the next week I found myself sitting in the publisher’s home office discussing the second issue.

Within a couple of months, I was promoted to editorial assistant, which came with a $250 per month pay raise. That meant my name went on the masthead (something I’d long dreamed of…although it was my wish to see it on the masthead of Vanity Fair) and the opportunity to write actual articles.

While this conversation was sort of the official start to my writing career, the truth is that writing is in my blood. My great-uncle spent his entire career writing for the Los Angeles Times, a distant cousin on my dad’s side is a published author and writes for The New York Times. My mom was a journalism major in college. I’ve been writing since I was a kid – I wrote my first book in second grade and my second book in fifth grade (and often wonder if I should do something with those – maybe there are other kids out there who want to read about a spider and a missing ring, or hear the saga of how Jeffrey got kidnapped and then rescued). 

But the point of this is supposed to be WHY I started writing. I don’t really know why. I’ve always gravitated toward words and books and putting pen to paper, ever since I learned how to read in the first grade. I wrote a lot of stories about little girls finding hidden treasure (usually old diaries) in trunks in their attics. I read a lot of books when I was kid – I used to sneak into the bathroom after I was supposed to be in bed to read Babysitters Club books. I spent childhood summers at the library checking out stacks of books, nearly always finishing the summer reading program in the first few weeks. 

Maybe I write because it’s a creative outlet, because it’s interesting. I KNOW I write historical fiction, with a bent toward romance, because it allows me to scratch the itch of being a lifelong academic. My current WIP is set in 1960s Palm Springs on a Hollywood film set, which means I get to fall down rabbit holes about the golden age of Hollywood. 

I write because it provides me an escape from everyday reality (that’s also why I read). I write because it has been my lifelong dream to write and travel the world. I write because I don’t know what else to do with my spare time. I mean, I do volunteer work at the art museum and with the Reno Phil. I read. I do embroidery. I work full-time. 

But the truth is this: Writing is the thing I’m passionate about. Knowing I get to write is the thing that gets me out of bed every morning. It’s what gets me to the coffee shop before 8:00 a.m. on weekend mornings to put fingers to keyboard and get the work done. Writing is what keeps me from lying on the couch after a tough day at work. Writing is my ticket out of those tough days, to creating a life that I don’t need a vacation from. Writing is also the ticket that will allow me to take those vacations and not feel inordinate amounts of stress upon returning to work. 

Writing isn’t easy though. I spend a lot of time staring at the blank screen. I spend a lot of time making sure the story flows. I spend a lot of time reading about a lot of things in order to get the plot right. My Google search history is a wild place to be. Don’t misunderstand, though – it’s not easy, but it’s fun. I love it. I love doing the research required to get the story right – reading books set during whatever era I’m writing about, watching movies from that time period, listening to music, studying history.

It never feels like work to be a writer, for me, but I don’t believe in “find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.” I believe you should find a job you love, whatever that looks like for you, but when you do, I believe you’ll love the work you do. You’ll want to put in the time. You’ll want to grab those pockets of time between meetings at whatever you do that pays the bills. You’ll want to get up early and maximize whatever free hours you have. You’ll find yourself thinking about your characters, as if they’re real people. 

And so, even on the hard days, I encourage you (and myself) to keep going. Keep putting the words on the page. Keep reading good books (but read a few bad ones, too, because they’re impossible to avoid). Keep studying the craft. Keep watching movies and television shows – there is a lot to be learned from watching how stories are told on the screen. Let yourself dream big. Picture your name on The New York Times best seller list.