When I was in middle school, I was going to be a writer when I grew up.
And a psychiatrist. And a veterinarian. And a singer as famous as Beyonce.
But most of all, becoming a writer was the plan.
I would take my notebooks to lunch and write instead of eating, never regretting my empty stomach.
As I went through high school and began to understand the need for sleep, the list began to shrink and morph into something a bit more reasonable. I wasn’t going to be the next Bey, and I was okay with that.
I had visions of myself in front of a college classroom inspiring the next generation to love Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness as much as I did, then going home to my cats and writing the next great American novel with a cup of Earl Grey.
I still carried my (many) notebooks of writing with me everywhere, asking close friends for their opinions any time I finished a draft.
Then, I went to college, and reality set in.
My notebooks sat on my desk and when I had the time, maybe once a month, I would get them out and stare at blank pages.
In my junior year of college, I got married (10-31-2012 <3). Two months later, I found out I was pregnant.
I delivered my Ghoulie-girl one week before the start of Fall semester of my senior year. I had written some poetry over the summer (pregnancy hormones are a monster in themselves, I’m telling you), but mostly I had been preparing for the life I had never seen coming back at lunch in middle school.
I took a creative writing class during each of my last two semesters as a treat to myself. Somehow, I was able to keep up with my other classes, raise a newborn baby, and crank out drafts (some shitty, some not-so-shitty) without any issues and even made the President’s List both semesters.
(Thank you, Jesus, because I’m pretty sure it was thanks to Him.)
I felt like the freakin’ Wonder Woman of Academia.
Then, I graduated, and the momentum died.
I found myself struggling to keep my kid from running into all the death traps I never knew existed, clean the house despite the hurricane-on-legs, and make sure my husband had everything he needed done before he left for work every day.
I didn’t write for over a year after graduation.
This post is the first thing I’ve written since earning my degree, and for that, I am ashamed.
At one point in my life, I starved for my craft.
Now, I’m bringing back the hunger.
I’m crawling out of my rut of a grave and I’m coming back from the dead.
Welcome to Night of the Living Mombie.