Conned Into Writing

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     I remember writing as a child, with such fondness. I wrote for my own amusement, and because I desperately wanted friends. My characters, even the non-humanoid ones, were my friends that I carefully crafted. I would write stories about young girls who could do the things in life that I thought I could would never do. I was each and every one of the young women in my stories, to a degree. At least I was in the sense that I was nothing like them, but desperately dreamed of being pretty and popular just like them. I wrote about Indian Princesses, Captains, cute boys, horses, many camp adventures, history and broken homes. I wrote about anything and everything that I could think of. I wrote out of my young-life experiences, and my large lack of inexperience in life. I wrote because it filled me up.

     Sadly, many of my old stories were torn into tiny bits and thrown into the trash. All my stories were cast aside because I thought they were stupid. That they would never amount to anything. I did not see myself as a true writer back then. I saw myself as a shy little girl who only dabbled into writing a bit now and again to find her voice within herself. I'd give anything to have my stories back now. I really would. Especially now that I consider myself to be a true writer. To have cast aside my old works will always pain me, but now I will remember to not just throw away endless written possibilities. Every word penned is just that, a beautiful possibility. I will hold onto every word that I have thought out and written down. I will cherish the words the Lord gives me. I will acknowledge that I am indeed a writer, and have been for quite some time.

     Just yesterday I was putting together two binders for two of my 'novel ideas' by trying to scrounge up all of my old tossed around notebooks and no-longer-sticky sticky notes with ideas scrawled scratchily across them. I was frantically searching through my drawers beside my bed for some of my old stories, the ones that had not had a bad run-in with the evil-paper-shredder-of-doom. I finally spotted my old grey notebook under a stack of other random note filled notebooks. I quickly flipped through my notebook and realized that I was holding within my hands at least 7 chapters of possibilities. As I continued to flip through it's pages I thanked God that I had not thrown it out too...and then I spotted a sentence, or dedication rather, in the back of the notebook. It said: "To my sister, Mary, who conned me into writing." After reading that line my mind was flooded with old memories. I was ready to take that stroll down memory lane...

{The Walton's}
     I remember the day when my younger sister, Mary, conned me into writing once again... (Okay, so maybe I wasn't conned into writing, but I was challenged to write, and my sister is a pretty smooth talker after all.) My family and I had just recently started watching The Walton's on dvd. A lot of our free time after schoolwork was spent watching episode after episode about life on Walton's Mountain. I was 17 years old that year, and we were going to be moving to the WNC Foothills within the next few months. Needless to say, I didn't want to move at all! I was full of angst towards my parents for making me move, and my being very shy made life that much more difficult because I just knew that if I moved I would never fit in ever again.

     It amazes me the way the threads of an old t.v. show and my moving 4.5 hours away from my Hometown wove themselves together into a beautiful tapestry. Hopefully those threads will be something that I will never forget in my lifetime. (God works in the mysterious does He not?) After having watched an episode of The Walton's one evening my sister, Mary, came into my room and said "Sarah, you know I bet you could write like John Boy writes. He writes what he feels to feel better. You could too." And that's when I started turning my anger and pain into words. I wrote poetry that flowed from my cut open veins. I bled out my anger and struggled to find my joy again in my rekindled love for word-smithing. I started finding God again in the words I wrote. I found out who I was through writing words on notebook paper. Pens and notebook paper became my weaponry against angst and misery. I found Him in His Holy Word and His words inspired me to write for Him.

     I have had this gifting all along. The gift of writing. I had cast it aside many years ago, but it has always been there lying in wait. I am happy to say that I am starting to find my voice once again. I am a writer, and my little sister conned me into it!

{{P.S.}} My sissy wasn't the only one who conned me into writing. God, Momma, Lyn-love, Jared, Nancy Rue and Marybeth Whalen (among many others!) have all inspired me to write. They have told me many times that I should write, and that I should chase after my dreams. And now I most certainly shall!


  1. There's so many stories I too wish I had not thrown away thinking they weren't worth anything. Thank you for the encouragement to hang on to even the ones I don't think are good enough, maybe someday they will be. :)


  2. I once gave a friend an entire box of notebooks, journals, and random sheets of paper full of stories never finished. I told her to her to do with them whatever she pleased...that I couldn't make myself throw them away, but I knew they would never amount to anything. Years later she wrote & said she still has them and asked if I'd like them back. I still haven't taken her up on it. Maybe someday.

    For now, I will try to do just as you said & treasure the words the Lord has given me in the present. Treasuring the words of my past is a work in progress :)


  3. {Siriana} Keep writing girl! You can do it! =)
    {Brittany} You are a brave woman! I definitely don't think I could ever hand over any of my notebooks or journals to another living soul. Treasuring life, among words, is always a work in progress for me. ;)


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