It's All About Me...

Well, Well, Well…my long awaited debut. It’s been quite some time now. I am actually writing a blog! I know what I am doing but at the same time, I don’t. This is an introductory post. This post will give you a glimpse of my life and what to expect. I strongly encourage that you visit this blog frequently and critique if necessary. Email me with concerns or things you want to me address in a blog or post. Ok, I’m getting side-tracked now. Yes, I am a blogging virgin! Lol. But you are probably wondering why. Not why I am a blogging virgin but why I am creating a blog in the first place. Why is she so important? Why should I even read this crazy lady’s blog? I will begin.

I was born in 1987, to one parent. My mommy took care of me. My father was (usually) awol. His name isn’t even on my birth certificate. I know him. And he knows me. And I rather not know him. But hey…what can you do about dead beat daddies? Anywho. My mom raised and home-schooled us. All five of us. I am the 2^nd oldest. Hey! No home-schooling jokes. So at parent teacher conference, your mom was the parent and the teacher? Haha, I have heard that joke a trillion times…smh.  

She put us in Tae Kwon Do when I was a kid and I got my 1^st degree black belt at 16. An ass-kicking, Black, Muslim girl. I get made fun of about that as well. I had a very good childhood. Like any other kid. I was so determined when I was younger, even in my teens. I always thought that things were possible. And I could do anything. I always wanted to travel the world and see new things. Write novels on the beach.

I graduated at 16 and went to college at 17. I graduated college at 20 years old. To this day I don’t know what happened or how it happened. I struggled. Boy, did I struggle. I was the 2nd youngest in the business class to have graduated in 2008 (the 1^st was an 18 year old Indian, go figure). I was crazy motivated back then…my God! What happened to me? I’m so critical now.

I never thought I would graduate. Never. Weird. But I did. The crazy thing is that I wanted to be a writer. But I didn’t want to get an English degree because I would end up being a teacher. And God knows I cannot….I repeat…Cannot be a teacher to kids. So I took business up. Not knowing that years later I would utterly hate it! With capital letters, hate the retail management field. How nasty and full of racism and sexism was in the corporate culture. I wanted nothing to do with it.

I used to write articles, presentations, poems and short stories when I was younger. I loved reading. I was the only kid who spent all my allowance of books at Borders. I lived in the local library. They knew me by name there. I would go everyday and sit and read books in that comfy chair and then I would take at least three home with me. And do it again the next day.

When I got into my 2^nd year of college I stopped thinking about becoming a writer, author and my dreams went to a halt. I put my love on the backburner.  I did finish a novel before that but got discouraged and decided not to get it published.

I would write short stories here and there. But I would never finish them because I felt that I wasn’t good enough and that I could never sell my work or that people would even like it. Who was I? Just a Black Muslim girl with a business degree. I wasn’t a writer. An artist. There was nothing special about me that would draw in an audience. That would captivate people. It was impossible and I was afraid of failure. Still is.

Recently, for fun I started thinking up some characters and a plot for a fiction novel. I wrote a few pages last summer then stopped. I grabbed it again this fall and wrote a few more pages and stopped. It was scaring me. I wasn’t going to succeed, why am I wasting my time?  I should be looking for a job instead.

My father-in-law recently passed away. He told my husband that he didn’t regret anything in his life before he passed. That hit me hard. I do. I regret things that I have done and didn’t do. I didn’t want to be like that. Regretting. Woulda, shoulda, coulda. Anyone can die at any moment. And I didn’t want to go out like that.

I signed up for a creative writing class about a week ago. I only been there twice but it’s like a breath of fresh air. They have poets, songwriters and novelist such as myself. I feel a sense of belonging. I want this class to get my creative juices flowing and what I can do to be a better writer. I’m tired of always criticizing myself. And telling myself that I am not good enough. I am good enough. Dammit! I am woman, hear me roar!

I am my biggest enemy. I am my biggest mountain. I am the one who is stopping myself from getting where I want to be. No one else. So, I want to stick to this. Help me out people. I want to blog regularly. So I can create an audience. So I can have the support I need to carry on through this journey. I am writing a book. I am going to finish my book. And I want to get my book published. Hook, line and sinker.

It’s all about The Juicy Details

Much Love,

            Leah J