They say that true writers cannot stop writing, that they breathe and eat words and sentences. There are no pseudo-writers; that is, people who were born to write but don’t. I believe this is true. I know people who throw words down on paper or on their computer so violently and forcefully that it is as if they are barreling down some invisible imagery highway that the rest of just don’t see.

I say the “rest of us” here with a touch of sadness. When I was growing up, there was nothing more I wanted to be than a writer. I drowned in stories of my own imagination, and loved scribbling them down on paper so I could read them to my classmates. I was a performer with these stories. I itched to make people laugh, to make them listen to what I had to say. The growing density of these dreams was not hindered by my teachers; they encouraged me and pushed me to write as much as I could, even if most of my stories were riddled with fart jokes and toilets that spoke English (hey, I never said I was little Chekhov).

It was automatic for me to assume that I could make a living as a raconteur. But something funny happens in these public school systems. As you graduate from each stage of school (i.e. elementary to middle, middle to high) you start realizing you aren’t that great anymore. There are other people who are funnier, it seems. People move faster down that imagery highway than you. The teachers don’t coddle anymore; at least, not you. And suddenly, you become just another decent student.

I think it’s nice to feel a little different, to stand out from the crowd just a little bit. I used to think that my writing would be my vehicle to uniqueness; instead, I wrote less and less and started thinking about doing other things with my life. I think true writers would call those other things, such as a business degree, a “distraction.” I didn’t.

I guess my point is that somewhere along the road, I stopped writing, and as a result I stopped becoming a writer. It was that simple.

They say that true writers cannot stop writing. I’m hoping there are still second chances for writers who have been distracted. I’m hoping a cutesy little online journal is a decent place dip the toe into the water.