When I was young, I wanted to be a model. I was told I had the looks for it, so my mom put me through modeling school, where I learned how to put on make-up, walk correctly, eat correctly, everything you could imagine I'd need to know. And I discovered something. I may have had the looks, but I certainly didn't have the drive to model. I hated the cattle calls, hated having to check in with my agency before I got a haircut, all the hassles of 'making it' in the industry.
Then I decided 'why not writing'? Why not, indeed? I was good at it. I'd been writing ever since I knew what a pencil was for... and it sounded easy. Just.. write, right? Wrong. I wrote short stories, I wrote poetry, I joined writer's groups and went to workshops, and did everything a budding writer is supposed to do, but ultimately I didn't have the one thing I needed to follow my dream.
All the talent in the world didn't do me a bit of good. I didn't believe in myself, so how on earth could I reasonably expect anyone else to? It took me years upon years before I finally figured out I could do it.
So here I am, twenty-five years later, following my dreams.
Because I have the talent, I have the support and I'm worth it. And now there's something else. I have children, and I want my children to know that dreams don't have to die when childhood ends, and not every dream has to end in dollar signs. Sometimes, just doing it is enough.