Have you ever noticed when people say, “To make a long story short,” it goes on interminably? Isn’t that so annoying?

Well… to make a long story short, I decided I’m a writer. It happened like this:

Once upon a time, I bought a book called The Artist’s Way by Julie Cameron. Honestly I don’t remember much about it (probably because I never finished it), except for Morning Pages. 

Morning Pages is a daily exercise in which, you guessed it, you write first thing in the morning. But not just any ol’ writing- three pages of longhand, stream of conscience writing. It’s kind of like being Jack Kerouac without the typewriter… or the speed. 

I was young and feeling lackluster  during this period. So what did I do? Wrote those stupid morning pages, by golly. Everyday. Religiously. 

Now if you google this idea, you’ll find tons of accounts (metric and imperial… get it? Tons? Measurement?) detailing how it changed people’s lives, cured cancer, colonized the moon etc.  Not really, but you get the point- this is life altering stuff.

Well not for me it wasn’t- or at least not in the way I expected. 

After a week or so I got tired of the mindless drivel racing through my head and out my hand. “This is pointless!” I protested. “I’m sick of writing every morning and literally saying nothing,” I bemoaned. “I’m tired of my hand cramping- this is not a nice way to ease into my day. Where’s my laptop? I’m getting the vapors…”

And so it began like most things: with a whiney complaint. Instead of jotting down random, intrusive thoughts, I picked one and ran with it, merrily typing on my computer. I thought about words- their power, their meaning, their manipulation. I thought about stuff I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I was the artist, and this was my way.

I actually looked forward to getting up in the morning to write- which was no small feat because I had undiagnosed bi-polar disorder at the time. (I’m still bi-polar, just not disordered.) Before I knew it I had stacks (read files) of personal essays and self-help pep talks. I thought some of it might be kind of good- maybe I could do something with it. 

But I didn’t. And worse- I eventually stopped writing altogether. 

Well a couple of years ago, I finally got my diagnosis. And a couple of years after that, I finally found the right cocktail of meds for said diagnosis, and it changed my life. Mostly because I felt like living again. Go figure.

One day, when I was out hiking, I decided I was going to write a book. You know, finally do something with those original writings.

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Who’s writing a book.

Who’s writing a book who?

Who’s writing a book- ME!!

I’ve been adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing some of the OG essays plus writing new material for my magnum opus. It has been a lot of fun and quite revealing- I’ve grown up over the last decade. But more importantly I have found the more I write, the more I think. The more I think, the more I want to write. 

And that leads us to this very moment, right here in the present, your rapt attention, eyes locked on the screen. I find that I think about a lot of foolishness that doesn’t belong in the aforementioned book, but I still want to write about. It needs somewhere to live (or die). Thus, you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what this blog’s about!

There you have it, gentle reader. The long story short version of how I’ve become a writer… and ended up with a blog.

Welcome to Kaytlyn Writes. I hope you stick around.