When I was 12, I came across a copy of Seasons in the Sun in my mom’s book collection. I leafed through the first couple of pages and found myself instantly intrigued. I asked her about it, and she told me that it wasn’t meant for kids. In fact the way she put it was, “Mijo, the things he writes about you won’t understand. You’re too young.” And she was right. I didn’t understand. Still, I read that book so much it fell apart after a year or so. It was during that time when I began to try my hand at writing. Before long, poetry became a quiet hobby that soon grew into a passion. It was a passion kept buried deep for many years. Now, 22 years later, I’ve come to the point of my life where it’s no longer a question of whether I am a writer or not, but rather a question of whether I’m ready to take a chance, for once.
About 5 years ago, a former classmate of mine had her poetry published. I went to her book signing at the local library with every intention to congratulate her and ask her how she did it. As I recall, I shook her hand, fumbled out a congratulations, and then walked away. I spent the next couple of hours reading a book on how to get published. All I could think was, “That could have been me.”
So here I am. About to take part in a 12 hour poetry marathon. I would have tried for the 24 hour marathon, but I think I’ll take it easy the first time around. Perhaps this will be that spontaneous first step into this world I’ve had such a love for, but never confessed? I’ll not lie and say, I am not the least bit nervous; cause I totally am. I am new to something like this. Up until now, I’ve left my poems to $0.99 journals from the dollar store, my notes on Facebook, and a blog I’ve not logged into for almost a year. Nervous as I may be, though, I plan to have as much fun with this as possible.
Good luck to everyone!