When I was twelve I convinced my mom to sign me up for a city-run summer writing class. Every day I'd ride my little pink bike over to the community center with a crooked grin on my face. Always on time, always ready to write.

Why? Why wasn't I out at my hometown's famous beach? Or running around socializing, causing twelve year old trouble like most kids my age? At the time, I just knew that it was the highlight of my Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays.

 

Now, in my 30's, I know it was because my soul needed to write.

The first day of class each of us was handed a notebook. I immediately loved that it opened on the short edge. I thumbed through the clean, crisp pages, just waiting to be written all over. I remember thinking that it was the best decision I had ever made, (in all my twelve years of making strenuous decisions).

So all summer I wrote my little heart out, creating poems, short stories, long stories, dialogues.
And at the end of the course there was a writing contest: the prompt? Just write a good story. I went home that night, and wrote the first thing that came to my mind. And it just poured out of me. After hours of scribbling, I re-read it (probably 20 times), and smiled, packing it in my bag.

The final day came, and it was time to share our masterpieces. I was nervous, excited, happy, giddy. I hated speaking, but I did it. After we all read our work, everyone took a secret vote on paper. And after a slow strut to the podium at the front of the class, the teacher smiled and said; "The winner is... Sondra."

What did I win? Besides bragging rights? A king size Hershey's chocolate bar.  I have never ridden my bike anywhere with as much pride as I did on my way home that day. I watched the candy bar bouncing in my basket. I peddled with passion. I felt my young soul come alive, my body felt an energy I had never experienced before. I was a writer.

 

I went home and ate the whole damn thing. And let me tell you, chocolate has never tasted so good in my life.

 

I think about what that chocolate bar meant to me, then, and now. It showed me that I do have what it takes to be a writer, despite an anxiety disorder (which would be diagnosed much later in life). Despite crippling fear and self doubt, I had something in me that could produce writing that other people wanted to read. And now I'm finally giving myself that chance.
 

Writing has been a part of my life since I could first scribble my ABC's. It's engrained into my soul like a tattoo, and this blog is a place I can let it loose.

 

I'm in my 30's, a mom of 3, a wife to a man I love dearly. I've been through a lot, having worked many jobs and worn many hats. I'm ready to give that little chocolate-faced girl her dream back. 

 

I hope you enjoy what you read here. Please excuse me while I go enjoy another chocolate bar.