As a sort of introduction to – well – me, I thought I would write a brief post as to how I got here, what that means, and why I am absolutely terrified.

I’ve never been one to put myself out there. The cute term for it is “wallflower”. The actual term for it is “social anxiety”. In friend groups, I’m always the one tagging along but not speaking. I’ll excuse myself early from a function. That sort of thing.

My creative writing teacher in high school didn’t think I could speak until I forgot my locker combination one day and needed to ask her for it. Her face looked like she had just witnessed a miracle occur in the “D” hallway. Kind of a mixture of awe and terror. Hilarious, in hindsight.

People always said I’d grow out of it. Surprise – I didn’t. I have gotten a bit better, but I still have some days when I can barely speak in front of a group of more than five.

But I’m about to do something absolutely terrifying to me. I’m going to share my author page – this author page – with my real-life friends.

*cue internal screaming*

Wait, what?

Let’s back up for a second.

I’ve wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. As a child, I was either reading or writing, and the desire or urge never disappeared.  I went through a period where I didn’t write, and it always felt like something was missing.

Along the way, life – as it does – got complicated. I graduated from university with a degree in a field where I couldn’t find a job. I got married immediately after getting that degree. I had to work double – sometimes triple – shifts at a restaurant to make ends meet and pay for that degree that didn’t do anything except fill a frame.

It was a dark time. Not because I wasn’t writing, but because I couldn’t do anything other than work. And I always smelled like a mixture of bagels and mop water.

Go ahead. Imagine that smell. Now imagine it’s embedded in your skin. No amount of scrubbing gets that smell out. Not a pretty picture, is it?

In order to survive, I had to push away my dreams and desires in favor of plans. Thankfully I got a better job (thanks – finally – to that expensive piece of paper), sloughed off the bagel water smell (I’m gagging just thinking about it), and learned what it felt like to have free time again.

Why now?

Why not?

It’s really as simple as that. For the past couple years, I’ve been scribbling little scenes in notebooks, taking part in hashtag games on Twitter, and plotting the book I’ve always wanted to read.

A few weeks ago, something clicked in me. I sat down and outlined that book. I wrote out the first scene and let someone read it. And they wanted more. Could they have been humoring me? Sure. Could I spend all this time writing this book that won’t ever be published? That’s a possibility.

But I feel the pull to write it. I crave it like craving the sun after a long bout of rain.

And right now, I want to pursue this – my very first dream, my very first ambition.

I’ve been a writer all my life. Now, I want to be an author.

What I’m asking of you

First of all: Hi! Thanks for clicking on the link to get here. All I’m asking for right now is support. You can sign up for updates to the blog, where I’ll be posting snippets of what I’m working on, some flash fiction pieces, some essays, and thoughts on the writing process or what I’m reading.

There’s not much to look at right now, but I’ll be sure to update with more soon!

Let me know what you think. Do you think I’m slightly crazy, full-on insane, or somewhere in between?