I am a writer. It’s hard for me to type that. I’m not sure I even fully believe it. But, people keep telling me that I’m a writer, and I figure that if I repeat it enough times, it will eventually sink in.

I’ve wanted to be a Writer since I was a small child. In second grade, my teacher sent me to the principal’s office to show off a poem I’d written in class. In fourth grade, I read a story about a woman who had pledged, as a young child, to be a writer when she grew up. She turned forty, and was unexplainably sad. She then remembered her pledge and started writing. I decided, at the age of nine, to make the pledge myself!

In fifth grade, my teacher was so impressed with the assigned short story that I’d written with my spelling words, that she told me I would be a great author some day. In middle school, I placed second in my state for an essay I wrote about being an American. I was sure my writing career was going to be successful.

The flyer for the Owning Pink Self-Discovery Workshop said:

Hiya Pinkies. Almost three weeks have elapsed since I experienced my Pink intuitive reading from Mojo Mentor Caroline Bobart. Usually, when things happen, I write about them instantly. It’s almost as if writing something makes it real for me. But this time, I needed time to process what I experienced.