When I decided to finally sit down and write my first novel it was not out of some noble cause or life long dream. I didn’t think I was some kind of inspirational writer, the greatest writer ever to live, nor had I lived the most exciting life to tell stories. I just loved to write. It was in my blood, truly.
My sisters are artists, my brothers are musician, and I knew there was something in me to express my own creativity. The only things I can paint are walls. I guess I can hold a tune, but writing music is a foreign language to me. Words though, are my paintbrush and my musical instrument. I can ignite the mind, inspire the heart, and capture a soul with my words. Writing is my magical paintbrush that allows people to enter into worlds unknown, meet all kinds of other people and have experiences that change them. Wow, right? That is why I write!
My father was a writer. He was a teacher, a storyteller, and a conversationalist. He was a voracious reader and truly one of the smartest men I have ever met. He wrote about many things: philosophy, religion, politics, history, and just life. But his many aspirations were to become a fiction writer. He had sweet stories to tell. He put them down on paper…literally, on paper with a pen! He eventually got them to a computer, and even had a few printed up to hand out to friends and family. He tried and tried, but he never got published. I think of all the things he could look back on his life, this was a big failure to him. He never wanted much out of life. He wasn’t looking for fame or fortune, just for people to share in his love of stories. He understood the power of words and truly just wanted to share this magical thing we call writing.
Becoming a writer makes me understand my father’s passion. He loved words and the experience to create…and to give back to others through writing. I think I understand him that much more. I write for him. I want to give him the legacy he never had. I want to show him that all he taught me was not in vain. I want to show him that his words live through me. His talent was not wasted and buried with him.
Writers come in all shapes and sizes. They write about diverse topics. But what they all have in common is a passion to mold words into a single idea to share. For writers, just to have someone read your work is success. Oh okay, if they like what you write that is great too! But for me, to have someone read my work is something more. It is my gift to my father and a letting his legacy live on.