Init cute?!? I don’t know if the picture quality is high enough for you to notice all of the subtle little details like the braces or the bowtie, and if not, use your imagination. The Thesaurus is the nerdiest dinosaur you’ll ever see, and I absolutely love him. I’ll post an even nerdier teeshirt blog tomorrow, but today I want to focus on why the Thesaurus is basically my spirit animal.
In case you haven’t guessed already, I love writing. I am a writer. Hopefully, someday, I’ll be an author to boot. Or professional blogger. Whatever works. But it hasn’t always been this way.
The first thing I can ever remember wanting to be when I was older was a cowboy. Not a cowgirl, oh no. A cowBOY. Then I wanted to be a mad scientist (then I realized you’d have to know math*), and after that a graphic designer, and finally, about sixth grade, I settled on writing.
Writing has always been a love of mine, ever since 1st grade, when I wrote a story called “the little seed” which my teacher loved so much she loaned it out to all the teaching aids.** But high school kind of shook my confidence.
See, once you enter high school, you stop asking “what do you want to do when you get older?” and start asking “what are you majoring in?” It sounds more mature, but it’s a lot more harrowing, especially to the creative type like me. Suddenly, majoring in creative writing seemed impossible, and even worse, irresponsible. I couldn’t really expect to live off of a degree like that, not right away at least. So I went back to the drawing board and decided that my initial major would be graphic design. It would be my steady job while I wrote on the side. Once I could support myself with writing, I’d stop doing design.
But when I started debate during my junior year, other possibilities presented themselves. It became a good idea to go to law school, or all places. I considered this new career path for several months; I enjoyed politics, arguments, research, and being right. One of my favorite movies was “A Few Good Men”, and later “Inherit the Wind” snuck in there too. Maybe I could be a lawyer to pay the bills while I wrote spy novels on the side.
That’s when my muse started panicking. Being a lawyer takes 8-10 more years of schooling, not to mention all of the years of dragging yourself through all the bureaucratic ranks to actually start making decent money. Then what? When would you have time to write?
It turns out my muse was right in its panic. When would I have time to write? What would be the point of going to school for something I wasn’t really interested in so I could make some money to be able to do what I really wanted to do? Why not just be a starving artist? Heck, I forget to eat now!
For me, writing isn’t a job. It stresses me out sometimes, but what doesn’t? Creativity is a scary thing; you’re constantly plagued with the possibility that it will run out. But I love it. I love it more than I can describe to you. Sometimes, I’ll daydream about it. Not the stories I write, although I daydream about that too, but I actually daydream about the act of writing. It makes me happier than anything in the world; the high after writing is better than my debate after-glow, and that means a lot coming from me. I don’t care if it takes me a lifetime to make a cent off of writing these silly stories. I don’t care if I have to work at Starbucks for the rest of my life, as long as I get some time every day to write.
I love my craft that much, and no amount of money will ever come between us.
* When I was in fourth grade, I wrote “I hate math” all over my math folder, which my math teacher saw. She then called my parents, worried. Funny thing was, that was back at the time I was actually good at math. I used to be the math nerd. I used to make up algebra problems with my friends and solve them: for FUN.
** I kinda like being able to insert stories without interrupting the post. Woo, footnotes! Anyways, one of the teacher’s aids was the uncle of a boy in my class named Brandon. He lost my story, and so in 3rd grade, I rewrote it to the best of my ability and put it in a nice folder and gave it to my first grade teacher. I have no idea if she understood what I was trying to do, or if she even remembered that story.