I never dreamed of being a writer, yet here I am.
According to a second-grade project, the occupations I was interested in pursuing was dentist, ballet dancer, and artist. First, why? Second, no. Third, almost. More on the third option later. The signs for me becoming a writer were always there, or, using a writer’s term, foreshadowed:
Speech bubbles accompanying childhood drawings, winning an essay contest that sent me, my dad, and my late grandfather on an all-expenses paid trip to the US Open, and writing in diaries and journals. I even formulated fanfiction based on Avatar: The Last Airbender and the anime Naruto, which I never finished (or posted online. Thank God).
Lemme rewind to the speech bubbles. I tried creating my own comics as a kid, but I never had the patience to finish them. Even though I didn’t finish the stories on paper, they lived on in my head, spiraling in ways that, with the skills I had at the time, couldn’t be captured in pictures. I didn’t realize that I could continue them in another form. Until I was older.
In my sophomore year of high school, I had the craziest notion of becoming a forensic scientist. Watching umpteenth episodes of Forensic Files will do that. I even went to a camp called “Camp CSI: Birmingham,” a five-day forensics camp hosted by the University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB), the summer before. Crime scenes, testing the age of maggots, and a mock jury trial were some of the activities I was involved in. I was that inspired. You’re probably wondering what happened. I can sum it up in one word.
Chemistry.
That one school subject threw a wrench in my forensic future. They forgot to mention that as a necessary requirement to becoming a forensic scientist at the camp, or maybe they did, and I paid no attention to it. I should have. Learning formulas didn’t come easy to me as other subjects did. I struggled that entire school year and finished with either a low B or a high C in that class. That doesn’t seem bad, but when you’re used to achieving all As, it can be a hit to the ego. And this was just high school chemistry; imagine taking college courses. I did. I enjoy challenges, but when I don’t have complete understanding of the material in front of me, what’s the point? I realized that Chemistry and I didn’t have…chemistry.
So I went back to focus on my first love, art. It had been there for me since I was a baby, sitting in my mom’s lap doodling stick figures on paper in church. I spent many summers going to art camps, like at the Birmingham Museum of Art and Space One Eleven, and I loved every second. Sketching, painting, clay, metalwork, all of it. I would apply to the Art Academy, who partnered with my school and the high school next door, with the confidence that I would change art from a hobby to a future career, but there was a slight problem. Forensics wasn’t the only thing I hopped into in the summer of 2009.
Just like with forensics, my parents were supportive of me delving into writing. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. I struggled with finishing stories in the past (see the part about fanfiction in the first section). Tried writing something the previous year, but I wasn’t inspired to finish it. This new story, a teenage girl who gets caught up in a world of werewolves, wizards, and vampires (oh my!), wouldn’t leave me alone. Nagged at me relentlessly. It needed to be written.
When I wasn’t doing homework or playing a tennis match, I was writing in a yellow notebook. In the car, at my younger brother’s middle school basketball games, in the tub, and so on. I was even writing in class when I should’ve been paying attention to my teachers. (This doesn’t mean I slacked off. Still graduated with honors.) My teachers thought I was taking notes when I was creating battles between good and evil. At the end of the first semester, I had completed a 90-page story that, to my surprise, some of my friends were fighting over to read. I was addicted, hooked on worldbuilding, and like an addict, I wanted more.
Nearing the end of my sophomore year, I was faced with the hardest decision, at the time, I ever had to make. I had been accepted to the Art Academy, would be taking Art III, and was also interested in working on my school’s literary journal the next year. Unfortunately, the classes were held at the same time, and I could only choose one. I was at a literal crossroad. Do I stick with something that I’ve been doing since I was brought into this world, or do I jump into something I had been doing for not even a full year? Do I stay in my comfort zone or travel into the unknown?
I thought about the future; which one would I be happier doing ten years from now?
It hurt my heart to have to choose between art and writing, but in the end, I switched from throwing watercolors at canvases to penciling words in notebooks. Many, many notebooks. To this day, I still have a sketchbook, but I don’t draw as frequently as I used to.
I can definitely say after obtaining my BA in English Writing, a MFA in Writing (to this day, I’m still in shock that this Southern girl had the opportunity to attend and graduate from an Ivy League school), and a self-published YA Fantasy novel, FATE, the first story I drafted in high school and revised a ton in college, I made the right choice.
Cheers to ten more years.