Momma Dreamer Week 5 | Laura from Hollywood Housewife

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I am one of those rare people who knew as a child what they were meant to do for the rest of their life.  I don’t remember an age when I didn’t read.  Shy when I was younger, I spent almost all of my time in a corner with a book.  At school, at home, even when my parents would drag me around to different events, I would find a quiet space and read.  I knew in elementary school that I wanted to craft stories for others to enjoy.  In my heart, I am a writer.

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But also in my heart, I am a scared-y cat.  I wrote short little stories on my mom’s typewriter, but I never showed them to anyone.  I told elaborate tales to my friends, but I never wrote them down.  To be a Real Writer was such a prestigious aspiration to me that I was terrified to try and fail.

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When I hit the teenage years, all of my thoughts turned inward.  I wrote for hours in various journals, but I mostly stopped writing or telling my stories.  I still told people that writing was the only thing I ever wanted to do, but the problem is that I never actually wrote.

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I went to college, and my degree required lots and lots of glorious reading, but any writing was limited to stodgy papers and assignments, general classwork that was mostly a regurgitation of my professor’s ideas.  College had hundreds of distractions, and I filled my life with them all.  At the time when I was at my most creative, I put my energy towards anything but writing.

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I graduated college, moved to Los Angeles, and met some of the most brilliant minds I’d ever known.  Not writers, not even really readers, but there was so much in California to inspire me.  Still, fear and laziness kept me from sitting down and really writing.

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Now in my thirties, with two kids, a marriage, and a mortgage, I have finally decided that my procrastination clock is up.  A couple of years ago, I dipped my toe into the blogging waters and my life has never been the same since.  I write multiple times a week for a small audience and – lo and behold – writing almost daily has made me write better.

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My dreams didn’t change when I became an adult, or when I got married, or when I became a mom.  The number one thing that changed my dream was the internet.  Self-publishing and creating for myself a discipline has stretched me and taught me more than I could have imagined.  I’ve started freelance writing, and really focusing on this craft that is my calling.

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I may not be ready yet for the Big Time, and I’m no longer sure I have The Great American Novel in me, but I am finally spending my days pursuing my passion, and this has made all the difference in the rest of my life.  I am happier and more fulfilled than when I was only dreaming without action.  I am a better wife, excited to tell my husband about my day, and I am a better mom, knowing that I’ve carved out something for myself while also getting to spend quality time at home with my kids.

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When I first dreamed of being a writer, I didn’t factor anyone else into the equation.  I thought a writerly life involved lonesome hours at a coffee shop, late nights and despair.  This was my romantic version of a writer.  But now that I’m learning more about it, and realizing that all dreams must work around your spouse and little people if they’re going to work well, I know that I was called to write not only as a gift, but also as a lifestyle.  This is who I am, and as my dream shifts and changes, it’s only for the better.

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Thanks for sharing your story with us Laura!