Last week I had an epiphany.

I was talking to my grandma about going back to school for nursing, and how stressful of a task it was turning into, and I realized something: I want to be a writer.

Heck, I've wanted to be a writer since 7th grade, but it has always seemed so out of reach. I wonder constantly what it would be like to work for myself, to do something I truly love, to be able to live my own life and write and live as I please. I imagined having my own home with my hubby and kids and my cozy little office where I could escape into my fantasy world of writing. I imagine seeing my novels on bookshelves in stores and malls around the world.

Then I thought of something even better....I CAN do that. Now, this isn't me being cocky. This is me looking at the novels I write and being impressed even with myself. As rejection after rejection letter has come to me, I have started pinning them up on the wall in my office. It's not to be disappointing, it's simply to give me the push I need. After all, “you can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.”
― Stephen King

This is what I'm meant to do. Yes, I LOVE medicine. Yes, when I feel like I may not suceed in writing, I turn to school and nursing and med school and work, work, work....

But I want to write. I want my books to be known. I want my name to be known.

And it will be.