Writing has always been a constant in my life. It has been the constant in my life.
As the years went on, I found other interests and passions. Some of them, like my love of travel, have stuck, whereas others, like my interest in synchronized swimming or vodka sodas, were no more than a passing fad. But writing has always been there.
As a young child, too young to know more than just the basics of the English language, I drew picture books with simple storylines. I kept stacks of these “books” in the kitchen hutch, each with a different colour construction paper acting as the cover.
And as I grew, so did my interest in writing.
I’d submit extra assignments in school — research papers, book reports and the like (I know… what a nerd). In high school, I began to write even more. When other kids my age were hanging out with friends and getting into trouble, I was at home, sitting on my bed with my laptop in front of me. It was an old, temperamental thing. I’m sure we’ve all had one like it. The fan would start up, loud enough to wake the neighbours, and every once in a while, it would shut off. No warning. Just a black screen staring back at me.
“Control S” became a habit in my writing after every pause in thought.
I would spend months on the same ideas. Pages upon pages stacked up into 100,000-word stories. Dreams of mine would become the plot for yet another story. Interactions in my day to day would spark a brand-new angle. I’d rush home after school, eager to see what my characters would get up to next. I’d stay up until the early hours of the morning, not ready to put the story to sleep for another night.
Then, one day, it all just stopped.
After graduating from high school, I found myself on a world tour of sorts. I travelled to Europe in the summer after grad and ended up in Australia the following winter. For the next few years, I jumped back and forth between Australia and Europe, only ever returning home for short bursts.
In that time, I had ideas for stories, but nothing ever ended up on a page. For years, I travelled, making friends from around the world and having adventures like those I’d only ever thought about writing. But despite the ideas and despite the adventure, I had lost the attention span to sit and write like I had before.
Then, in 2016 after meeting someone special on one of my holidays, I moved across the country to be with him, settling down into a more traditional way of life. I started paying bills and got a real job.
I was hired as a receptionist at a local radio and news station. However interesting the job may have been in theory, there was a lot of downtime just waiting for the phones to ring or people to come in. Never one to cope well with boredom, I suggested to my boss that I start a travel column on our website. We needed content. I needed entertainment. And just like that, after years without putting pen to paper, I began writing again.
Sharing stories of my adventures gave me a new purpose. I began taking online certificate courses to improve my writing, and when I eventually left that job to travel the world with my husband, I continued to share our adventures via personal blogs.
I found a love of writing different from what I knew before.
Writing brought me closer to my friends and family who didn’t live near me. It allowed me to share my stories and adventures with them — it allowed me to share my words with them.
Fast forward a few years to the spring of 2020. Now married and looking for a change, my husband and I planned to move to the city to attend school. I’d registered and was accepted to a travel and tourism program; however, I don’t think I have to explain my hesitancy in attending such a program at that time in our lives. With international travel at a standstill and the future of it so unknown, I wondered if it was worth considering other options.
I was visiting my parents at the time, and I sat at their kitchen table, laptop in front of me. Having just paid my tuition deposit, there was this strange feeling of regret within me. I realized that I didn’t want to go to a school of travel and tourism. What was the point of going to school for the subject and ending up behind a desk if the thing I liked most about the subject was being out in the world?
We’ve all heard the saying, “If you do what you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” I thought that meant travel when, in fact, the glaringly obvious choice was right there. Writing. It was a part of my life since I knew how to use a pencil.
Why did it take an international pandemic for me to grasp my penchant for writing?
I loved the two years that followed. It’s an odd thing to say because no one loved those years. We were stuck inside. We were grounded. We were lonely. Yet, for me, I was finding my calling.
After graduation, I accepted a job as an assistant editor at a magazine. I was writing, editing, proofreading and doing just about everything under the sun that I enjoyed doing. And now after parting with that position, I find myself back at the school where I received my journalism diploma — this time on the other end of things as a content specialist in the marketing department.
My own story is still being written. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know if my path will lead back to where it all started — with the love and passion for writing books — or if it will go in another direction. Although I can’t predict the future, whether it’s editing and proofreading, sharing short stories of my adventures or dedicating months to one idea, I can say with some certainty that writing will be there.
Emily Meyer writes about her world travel, having gone to school for journalism. Stay tuned for more articles from her!
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