Journey to an Unseen End

I’ve always envied storytellers, of any kind. To be able to weave a tale, teach a lesson, paint a vision in any media is an admirable and valuable quality. Oh, I’d tried to write a few poems in high school. Embarrassed by my feeble attempts though, I gave it up. English was one of the first subjects I dropped before quitting school altogether. Decades passed before writing played an important part in my life.

Over the years, computer technology became a focal point in my house. Talking to friends and sharing thoughts wasn’t as simple as picking up the phone anymore. It involved typing and stringing words together in a cohesive, expressive manner to make up for the loss of body language. Essentially, it was creative writing. The Internet exposed me to worlds I’d never known, people I’d never met, and a few that I did meet.

My son and I both hit teen angst at the same time, although we were twenty years apart. He poured his frustrations and rage into an unbiased machine, a blinking box that didn’t care about rhyme or meter. His short stories and poems, snapshots of life’s misery, were wonderfully descriptive. It rekindled an interest in writing my own prose.

Disillusioned with the way my life had materialized, I sought and found solace on the Internet. I began an affair that was supported in no small part by the emails and stories we wrote to each other. It was a return to old-fashioned romance, when men and women courted one another with love letters and poetry. Of course, it was fantasy too, because it was missing the reality of everyday annoyances and stressors. But the affair continued, and my writing kept improving with each keystroke. The man I was involved with was also a prolific storyteller. With his influence and encouragement, I continued working at my new hobby.

Some might think that my marriage collapsed because of situations made possible by the Internet, like the affair. Truth is though, there were already cracks as big as caverns in the relationship. It was the Internet, and the people I came to know on it, that gave me the strength to break free. I was closer to my “imaginary friends” than I was to my own husband. I found I could express myself much more freely online than I could verbally…I had control over what I was saying without interruption, and I could edit what I didn’t mean to say before committing with the send button. Hiding behind the monitor, I was safe in my anonymity; I could say and be anything I wanted without fear of ridicule.

I began to use writing as a means of venting the pain, anger, loss and violation that I experienced as my marriage ended. I went public with the affair and wrote educational, informative articles on the subject. The feedback from the online community was extremely positive, and spurred me to continue. I joined writer groups, pushing myself with their prompts and suggestions. From erotica to non-fiction, I tackled genres just to prove that I could do it, or at least learn something in the process. I evolved far beyond anything I’d ever dreamed of.

The Internet hasn’t been all give and no take though. The affair that gave me my initial start ended, via email. However, it was the friends I had online who rallied behind me and got me through yet another emotionally trying period. It was a few months before I felt as though I had anything worth writing about, but it slowly came back.

In just five years, I’ve progressed from those first few tentative sentences to published articles in national magazines. The short stories and poems that have entertained online have given me the confidence to work on a novel. In trying to help myself through some difficult times, I have in turn helped others by writing and sharing those experiences. Where will it go from here? I have no idea, but I refuse to see a ceiling. I love the challenge of writing and the endless combination of possibilities.

Though it’s wonderful having a nod of approval from editors and publishers, I’ve finally learned an important lesson that was never taught in school, and should be. The lesson is that we should write for the sheer joy of it, to express ourselves, and to share the gift of our being with the rest of the world. Too many people stop short, as if there’s an unseen instructor hanging over their shoulder waiting to grade their paper. In the privacy of your own home, there is no right or wrong way to convey your thoughts and feelings. The only real crime is not doing it at all.