Becoming an Author: No, Nursing Wasn't for Me

I get asked a lot why I chose to write. Honestly? I really don't know what made me want to get back into writing in my twenties. A spark? Divine intervention? Mania? But it wasn't until after I got my phlebotomy certification and was planning on going into nursing that I realized I wanted to write again.

Let me start from the beginning.

As a kid, I devoured The Oregon Trail II. (It was the second version of The Oregon Trail, not the original 8-bit game.) There was an in-game option to write in a diary, and I was that 7-year-old kid making up stories about people I imagined to be on the trail with me. I'd write about them having weddings and secretly kissing. I'd write about them getting sick. I wrote a lot as a teenager, mostly writing really bad Harry Potter and anime fanfiction with my friends. FF.net was easily the site I went to most, back when we still had one of those clunky Hewlett-Packard desktops in our "computer room."

I remember getting the spark to start writing in seventh grade. Our Language Arts teacher, Mr. Madison, was always encouraging, and I remember being introduced to Robert Frost's poetry in that class. That was also the year I started studying Spanish. The girl assigned to sit next to me on the bus—her name was Erica—we had the idea to write a screenplay together. All we ever really got out of that idea was that it would be based on "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett.

And that was the year I really fell in love with language and how I could make words fit together.

I loved my Spanish classes. Spanish came easily for me. Latin was available for those going into 9th grade, and of course I had to study Latin. That came easily, too. The syntax, the grammar, the words... They all made sense in my head.

Tenth grade was the year I had my first episode. It was a depressive episode. I went to a therapist, got on antidepressants from my doctor that, looking back, made me manic. I could tell you I found solace in writing sad stories and reading Sylvia Plath, but honestly? I let it consume me that year. Things were a lot darker than what I'm describing here, but I won't get into that.

When I got into college, I went into full-blown mania. I went in majoring in Spanish Education. Went days on just a few hours of sleep. Did illegal stuff. I changed my major three or four times based on whatever grandiose idea I had. I won't get into gross detail about my sickness, but the thing is, I was so out of my mind, I was so focused on feeling good and doing whatever the hell I wanted that I lost who I was. I lost that girl writing bad fanfiction. I lost that girl who loved language and making words fit together in different ways to make different meanings.

I dropped out after junior year. I was hospitalized, diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and discharged with no idea what life was going to be like.

I was terrified of what life would look like.

After a few months of adjusting, I went to work in a big-box retail store. I learned to take my medicine. I started getting regular sleep under my parents' roof, stuck to a routine, and picked myself back up. I got my first dog, Wilson. We called him "bargain bin dog" because he'd been dumped by a breeder because he wasn't an "AKC quality." (He had an overbite. That was it.)

In 2010, my parents sold the house and moved to the Myrtle Beach area. I wasn't dating anyone at the time, so I figured: What did I have to lose? I moved with them, was able to transfer within the retailer I was working for, and met David.

I was 23. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I didn't want to let my bipolar disorder hold me back. I decided I wanted to look into healthcare work. Hell, maybe I could be a psychiatric nurse. So, David encouraged me to get my phlebotomy certification. It was a two-semester course at the local community college.

Turns out I'm really good at sticking people with needles. I was the first in our class to draw blood, both with a straight needle and a butterfly needle.

I got my certification.

And decided healthcare wasn't what I wanted to do.

A couple years later, something made me pick up pen and paper for the 2013 NaNoWriMo. I honestly have no memory of why I wanted to pick up writing again. Maybe it was all the warm, pleasant memories of writing bad fanfiction with my friends. I'd gotten heavily back into reading and had that spark: Maybe I could write a book.

Believe me when I tell you that manuscript was a steaming pile of garbage. At the time, I had no idea what I was doing. I pantsed the hell out of that story (writing by the seat of your pants without any kind of outline in mind). It was a romance about two people who meet in a psychiatric facility. But, unaware of the steps involved in getting a book ready for publishing, I went straight to KDP and published it with a poorly made cover.

I kept writing. I started learning the craft of writing. I read everything I could, both online and offline, about how to structure a plot, how to write flawed characters, how to build character arcs, and how to show, not tell.

Within a couple of years, I went back to college. I got my degree in English and Creative Writing. I signed up to be an Municipal Liaison for the Wilmington region, and later Greenville after we moved. I gave classes at the library in Wilmington for beginner writers. I met so many incredible, talented writers, and I met one of my best friends through NaNo. (I'm looking at you, Lissa.)

Growth as a writer is inevitable. I encourage growth as a writer. I read books on writing. (I recently found a first edition of Strunk and White's Elements of Style at a local bookstore in the city and devoured it.) Several years ago, I moved away from writing romance (which really didn't click with me, and those manuscripts aren't published) and to mysteries and thrillers.

If you're wondering if you should try writing, I say go for it. (Please, for the love of god, don't use AI to write your book. ChatGPT doesn't challenge you the way writing on your own does. Your brain deserves exercise. GenAI makes your brain atrophy. Challenge yourself. Read a book on the craft of writing. Learn something new.)

For the love of god, go for it. You never know what you might accomplish by trying something new.