In a couple previous posts (PART I HERE!PART II HERE!), I did a little reminiscing over my life, acknowledging the fact that I’ve always enjoyed writing, even if I often doubted my skills. But in each segment of my life, writing played a meaningful role in one way or another. As I now look over my current writing era, (I’ll call it my modern or contemporary era just for fun! 2006 – 2013), I am extremely aware of how the past has shaped and molded me into the writer I am today.

All I needed was a spark.

I received my first spark during the second year of my current teaching job when I took over the role as drama director and I set out on a journey with a group of students to write our own play. Now I’m in my seventh year of play-writing, which in turn gave me the confidence to try a novel. Then two. Then three. And now four. I’ve highlighted my different works before, and so I don’t intend to do that again right here.

These play-writing experiences eventually led me to one conclusion: I’m a writer.

Perhaps that seems so simplistic. It is. It completely reminds me of when I was studying Vietnamese in Hanoi back in 1998. One day, I came home from a lesson and said to myself, ‘I’m fluent in Vietnamese.’ I wasn’t perfect. I still had new words to learn. It was not a declaration of ending by any means, but it was a realization that I no longer was that person who merely knew some Vietnamese words. I no longer was that person who had to strain to understand a conversation. I could talk to whomever I wanted and I could talk about whatever I wanted. I, the shy boy from Western PA, was a Vietnamese speaker. It was a freeing declaration, knowing that I no longer had to rely on English to build a friendship or to get something done. It was a way of turning the page and getting on with my life in a new direction.

This is exactly what has happened to me again over these last couple of years in regards to my writing. I had to realize that I was no longer the person who would just get an idea and wish I could accomplish it, only to realize that I couldn’t. I was no longer the person who compared his writing to others, always thinking that I didn’t measure up. I was no longer the person with the low SAT scores and a limited vocabulary who couldn’t string together more than three or four sentences without wanting to scrap them. Finally admitting to myself that I was indeed a writer freed me up to do the one thing I’ve been wanting to do for years: write.

Now I don’t try to be Hemingway or Fitzgerald or anyone else. The only writer I want to be is myself. But just like my Vietnamese revelation, I’m still very much a work in progress. I continually strive to learn and improve and have a lot of fun enjoying the process. My goal is simple: write stories that I enjoy writing and (hopefully) that readers enjoy reading.

If you’ve tried my writing, I’m flattered and humbled. I hope you’ve enjoyed.

If you haven’t, I hope you’ll give me a chance.

Either way, I’m going to keep the creative juices flowing and ride this modern phase of my writing career into the future unsure of where it will take me.