What it looked like in the beginning

My mother raised three readers. Each night she read out loud to us even after we were able to read to ourselves. She carefully selected books that the youngest could comprehend and yet were interesting to me as the oldest. She regularly tucked us into bed despite ardent protests and pleas to read just one more chapter. Once in a rare while she caved.

The Question

The question I have is: did I ever have a chance? Given these childhood memories did I ever have a shot at wanting to be anything other than a lifelong reader and writer? As I grew older I became painfully aware of how difficult it could be to make a living writing. I tried desperately to squash this dream, but I continually found myself trying to live its reincarnations.


Today I sit at the intersection of three different writing lives. I am working on a graduate degree in English where I write as a student, I teach writing to undergraduates as a teaching assistant, and I have recently started writing for a blog network. It is hard for me to understand this confluence as anything other than the splinter of that original dream forcing its way through the tough skin of someone who has tried to develop calluses. But is it time to be open to the new avenues for writing that didn't exist when I thought I crushed that dream so long ago?

There are options for writing now that didn't exist even a few years ago. The world of writing has been opened up to producers of content of all types and the possibilities for writers is expanding. But the changes seem to be slow in coming to the academic world.

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