The Birth of a Writer

Today is my birthday. I am 26 years old. Throughout my life, there have been many obstacles, changes, relationships, missed opportunities. I have grown up and grown apart from my goals. I have watched chances slip away, important moments pass me by. And I have, I think, done a whole lot of living too. Despite being ripe for a quarter life crisis, despite the potential for a lot of “but I still haven’t done this! I haven’t accomplished that!”, I think I’m doing well with accepting the things I have and have not done, and still moving forward.

Blue_candles_on_birthday_cakeAnd I honestly believe I have writing to thank for that. At 26 years old, I have been writing consistently for 18 years. I have around thirty college ruled notebooks filled with my scribblings, filled with my stories, my poems, my day dreams, and those only account for the elementary years through high school. The rest is all over my computer, in google docs, in random documents on my phone, on this very blog. When things are tough, I write. When things are going well, I write. And even when I don’t feel like doing it, I write. Because if there is one thing I have learned over the last 18 years, it’s that not only is writing absolute torture, it is also more fulfilling than anything else I have tried. Not only is it the most emotional draining, it can also be the most therapeutic.

It took every single minute of those 18 years to get to a place where I feel comfortable with my voice, with who I am as a writer, with the topics and stories I choose to pursue. Granted, I was eight years old! I had a long way to go. But I still went through that period at 18 that a lot of young/new writers go through: I thought I was the shit. I thought there was nothing more I needed to learn, nothing else I needed to know. Well, clearly I was wrong. Because even long term readers of this blog have watched me improve, just from last year alone. I watched myself improve, felt myself improve.

So, on this not so special, not so out of the ordinary birthday, I’m still calling it a milestone. Happy Birthday to me and my writing! To my stories, to my creativity, to my voice. We have come a very long way, and will keep going as long and as far as my mind will carry us.

 

 

 

 

 

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Comments
2 Responses to “The Birth of a Writer”
  1. Dave says:

    Aww … happy belated birthday, Hannah! Twenty-six is a good age, and you are still so very young, yet you’ve learned so much. I was nowhere along the maturity at 26, even though I had two kids by then πŸ™‚ It’s been a joy to follow you on your blog for the last … uh, well, I don’t remember how long … but anyway, your blog is one of my favorites.

    Loved these two sentences:
    “Because if there is one thing I have learned over the last 18 years, it’s that not only is writing absolute torture, it is also more fulfilling than anything else I have tried. Not only is it the most emotional draining, it can also be the most therapeutic.”

    Took me a lot longer than 18 to figure this one out πŸ™‚

    Hope your birthday was wonderful. I think 26 is going to be a great year for you!

    • Two kids at 26?! I can’t even imagine. I don’t feel nearly mature enough for that kind of responsibility. Clearly we were/are two very different kinds of mature πŸ™‚

      I’m definitely feeling good things about 26 πŸ™‚ So far, so good! Thanks, Dave, as always!

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