I want to be a writer. That’s something I never thought I’d ever say. For someone who struggled greatly with spelling and with the basic principles of composition throughout her elementary education, the notion of writing effectively (or being an author for that matter) was unfathomable. But writers are ones who are gifted with the powerful art of storytelling, and stories are a wonderfully captivating force that I’ve been deeply connected to since I was very young. Fairy tales, adventures, mysteries, thrillers, you name it - I was fascinated by them all. Whether they were told through the pages of a book, by costumed actors on a stage, or through the magic of the silver screen, the vast world of make-believe has always been an alluring place. Regardless of my initially subpar writing abilities, I thoroughly enjoyed creating fantasies of my own. As a kid, I’d fill dozens of black and white-marbled composition books with drawings that depicted countless adventurous tales. Because I had no skill with words, I relied on my penciled sketches to capture the tone, theme, and plot of the stories buzzing around in my imagination. But attempting to translate these ideas into coherent words was a daunting task. And to my younger self, it was an impossible feat.

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However, with the much-needed structural training from my eight grade English teacher, and through the formative guidance of my high school English professor, I was quickly whipped into writing shape. And I soon found, to my complete surprise, that I had a knack for it. Writing was fun! While academic papers were never a great thrill, creative writing was amazing. Ideas could be brought to life vividly through calculated selections from and combinations of the rich and immense English vocabulary. Instead of the hundreds of “what if” stories remaining trapped inside your head, they could be transferred onto paper. And if you were lucky, your words could entertain or even inspire readers. I was hooked. Writing opened up a whole world of possibilities and I thought that maybe I could be good at it one day.

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That romantic notion remained a wistful dream for several years. It wasn’t until the summer following my first year of college that I realized one could make a comfortable living as a writer. I had just finished watching Andrew Webber’s Love Never Dies for the third time when it dawned on me: someone had to write the lyrics the actors sang; someone had to create the story first before anything else could happen.  And that was true of every storytelling medium known to man – it all began with someone with an idea who’d written it down. Duh. You’d think the hundreds of books that I’d read over the years and the famous authors that I’d learned about in school would be enough evidence to prove that writing was a viable career path. Apparently not. I suppose this ignorance came mostly from my unquestioned belief that a life as a writer was something I could never realistically pursue. I was shy, had no connections to the literary world, and at that time, was enrolled in culinary school. And I’d been naïve enough to believe that you had to study a trade in college because that was the surest way to secure a career post-graduation. But my epiphany in the summer of 2012 was a game changer: I knew what it was that I wanted to do with my life. I would finish culinary school then move on to a writing degree program, all while writing stories, scripts, and whatever else I could think of. It was that simple.

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With this fresh clarity, I had a new mission: start writing. I made lists of topics I was going to write about and plans for how to go about my exciting endeavor. I eagerly began several stories but frequently stopped half way in the writing process due to one distraction or another. These literary projects would be pushed to Christmas break but soon enough, Christmas break would melt into summer vacation and I’d still have nothing completed. And when school started up again in September, the excuse for not writing became “I’ll work on it once school is finished.” Ideas for stories and essays never stopped coming, but my pen gradually stopped moving.

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Occasionally, I’d experience a surge of inspiration which would get me back on track. But these sporadic bursts of excitement would quickly dissipate because I couldn’t properly compile my whirlwind of ideas and mold them perfectly into words that would express the exact sentiments I wanted to convey. This frustration became a central obstacle for my literary goals. Precious time slipped by wastefully and before I knew it, I completed college without completing any of my stories. Opportunities for creative writing as a post-graduate were begrudgingly replaced with hours of vain job searches or comforting escapes to movies or television shows. My life was going nowhere and the self-inflicted depression that followed became increasingly difficult to shake off.

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It’s easy to craft a great title. It’s immensely harder however, to give that title the content it rightly deserves. This is the singular struggle that caused my plethora of story notes to pile up haphazardly in notebooks and folders, and eventually slip all together from the forefront of my mind.

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So what does this semi-autobiographical introduction have to do with this website? Well, it’s simply to say that it takes me a while to get where I need to go. It seems that I frequently choose – without realizing it - the longest road possible to reach my destination. Take this “foreword” for instance. I started this very introduction almost three years ago. As with everything else, I stopped half-way and abandoned it because my insecurities convinced me that it was a pointless undertaking. I had accumulated numerous ideas over the years for a project like this website, but I never followed through. Until now. For the first time in nine years, I’ve started something to which I am accountable; something that has parts completed, but, more importantly, has more pieces waiting to be finished.

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From this long journey, I’ve come to understand that to know what you love to do is one thing but to act on your conviction is another. To be where I am now, I had to endure many restless nights, hours of brainstorming, and sometimes bouts of depression triggered by believing that I’d never reach my goal. More importantly, I had to find a way to divorce myself permanently from procrastination. All too frequently, procrastination would act as the crutch for my lackadaisical attitude. And it would be justified with pitiful excuses. These excuses would then turn goals into distant dreams that I grew too lazy to fight for because they weren’t “practical.” This progression led to weeks, months, and even years of postponing any and all forms of writing. It’s a vicious cycle that’s incredibly easy to fall for, but after nearly nine years of this arduous battle, I’ve managed to drag myself out of a creative rut and break free from the debilitating clutches of writing lethargy.

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All it took was nine years. Nine years developing my work ethic and character in a small-town bakery. Included in that time were also three years of culinary school, five years as stage manager for children’s theatre, two years fighting to get my bachelor’s degree, an incredible month-long adventure in New Zealand, one soul-sucking year at a monotonous desk job, one life-changing contract with a professional theatre, two idle months during a historic pandemic, and one final sink-or-swim life decision to get me to this website. It took nine long years filled with joys and depressions, exciting days and many sleepless nights. It took nine years of struggling to free myself from the stifling cycle of despair; a despair triggered by the frustration of not being able to perfectly express the ideas in my mind into coherent words on paper. But that is all in my past now, and I intend to keep it that way.  

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This is Stories I Waited Too Long to Tell. It is the product of nine years’ worth of ideas scribbled onto a thousand different scraps of paper. It was born from my own procrastination; my inability to put pen to paper when I had the notions fresh in my head. This endeavor is for me. It’s not for a publisher, a fan base, or fame (though they would all be great honors). Instead, this is a tangible way to hold me accountable to my stories. Gone are the days of half-finished thoughts and the “I’ll get around to it later” mentality of a lazy writer. I’ve created a personalized place where I can neatly house my completed literary pieces. My stories, essays, and art will now be accessible to the world and no longer tucked away as private files on my ­grey, HP laptop. Stories I Waited too Long to Tell is my first step on what is sure to be a long and challenging journey to authorship, and it is my sincere hope that this endeavor will give me enough momentum to tackle and complete larger, more complex projects like plays for theatre, screenplays, teleplays, and novels.

 

So here it is: my collection of odds and ends. Things I wanted to say but waited too long to tell.

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03.20.21