I’ve always loved to write. I just never thought I was any good at it. When my middle school English teacher gave a creative writing assignment my first and only question was, “Does it have to be real?” When the answer was, “No.” I took creative licensing to a whole new level.
Back then I was into war stories. In fact, I still am. I’d take nearly any subject matter and find a way to add gunplay. I’d rummage through my imagination’s armory for laser guns, bows, and arrows, or automatic rifles to arm my characters. After enduring a few of my combat-laden stories, I had a feeling my English teacher was trying to find subject matters I couldn’t turn into combat. Challenge accepted. “I want you to write about a family vacation.” I’d raise my hand and with a sigh of regret the teacher would simply answer, “No, it does not have to be true.” and my unbridled mind launched.
I never figured out why she just didn’t make us write non-fiction. Maybe because she never really wanted to know what some of these kids actually did when not in school. She was a mandated reporter after all.
That was in the early 90s. Can you imagine if my war stories made it across my teacher’s desk today? I’m sure parent-teacher conferences concerning the state of my mental health and safety would be scheduled. All I wanted to do then, is the same thing I want to do now, share the mental movie that played in my head. I wanted to make others as excited about what I was imagining as I was. But back then I grew up in the shadow of my older brother’s talent. He was a few years older and in the English and literature AP classes preparing for college, whereas you guessed it, he majored in English. He kept journals and blogged, wrote thought-provoking essays on culture, and even wrote poetry. How was I going to outshine that and did I even really want to?
My writing recessed as I left high school, even while receiving compliments from peers and teachers alike. I shirked them all as empty platitudes. I Looked for other avenues of interest, for something that was truly mine.
By the end of high school, my boyhood dream of flying A10 Warthogs for the Air Force crashed and burned with an on-set of migraine headaches. So, it was off to college where I earned a degree in Criminal Justice and my creative writing went into a coma
It wasn’t till after college that I decided to put my very expensive piece of paper to work and entered the police force where my creative writing came back to me in an unexpected way. Incident reports and accident reports are the bane of most officers, but it made me write again, and write I did. Armed robberies, murders, assaults, car accidents, and the myriad of other calls you wouldn’t even believe all had to be documented. I learned attention to detail and my typing skills improved. I then realized I had access to an endless well of content to draw from. The craziness that happened in my town every day kept feeding me ideas. The creative writing that had gone to sleep began to twitch.
After the death of my brother, creative writing came to life. Maybe it was my way of mourning his loss, or I realized I didn’t have to be as good or better than him. I just had to be me. Ideas and plots and characters began to jumble and bounce around inside my skull. I’d sit in church parking lots to finish up my daily reports and then allow all the creative ideas to flow. I had no idea about drafting and editing and beta readers and all. I was writing and It felt good.
It’s been several years since then. Add a wife, two children, some animals, and promotions at work and well, something had to be put on the back burner. I’m still married so you can probably figure out what was sacrificed.
Eight years and I haven’t finished the first draft. I have put the pen down and picked it up so many times I can’t count. The number of revisions and changes that have happened are plentiful. Quasi superhero storylines have morphed into high-tech thrillers. Even a wild west story has recently begun to take shape and I don’t know if people even read those anymore. Through all this, though I have learned and applied techniques I wasn’t aware of and learned my own personal style of writing. My ultimate goal is to hold a published copy of one of my stories. It will be a journey and I am inviting you along for the ride.
We all have talents we don’t realize. Maybe we were told we weren’t good enough or it was a waste of time. Someone dumped water on your cardboard wings and now you can’t even get off the ground. If it’s something you are passionate about and God has given you a gift for, develop it. It’s the underlying message of this blog, the core theme that you will find; take what is hidden and develop it into something of value. Whether that is a skill, a hobby, or you as a person. We all have value. Value to those around us, value to ourselves as individuals, and definite value to God.
Do you have any hidden dreams or goals, or ones that aren’t hidden but you are struggling to obtain? Have you finally reached a goal? What did you do to reach it?
The Latent Man 