I’m a 26 year old writer.
My childhood consisted not of watching TV or playing outside, but of books. It seems only natural that I’ve also been writing for as long as I can remember. First my nonsensical scribbles graced the pages of a journal my grandma gave me. Soon after, I put my Mavis Beacon Typing Institute-approved typing skills to use on my family’s Windows 98, starting horse-centric stories which consistently lost my interest after two pages (a generous estimate).
From sophomore year of high school to sophomore year of college, I completed the first draft of my YA novel, a thinly veiled, wish fulfillment rip-off of Louise Rennison’s YA series. Four years of effort could be interpreted as a well-written and -executed draft, and for some writers, that interpretation is correct. But make no mistake; this is not the case for mine. Four years of effort could also be interpreted as the author’s intense dedication to academia, but this too would be false.
I have a poor writing ethic. The end.
Even after two years of graduate school and the title of Master (should I choose to enforce it), my deadlines are not met and my first drafts, for lack of a better word, suck. Needless to say, my commitment to blogging has waned.
Just like my commitment to re-working this “About Me” section. To be continued…