Your present circumstances don’t determine where you can go: they merely determine where you start.

-Nido Qubein

True!

“Who motivates you?” “Who is your inspiration?” most people will give the positive answer. Something pretty and well thought out, polished and maybe even rehearsed. But would it be truthful?

Inspiration is not always pretty.

I like to bounce around in blogs and see what’s going on, what other authors and people are talking about in the writing world. Sometimes I comment but most of the time I don’t. It’s not that I do not want to but because some of the commentors are so strong on their stance on grammar that I always fear that I may put a comma in the wrong place and instantly be judged. For life. Blackballed. It’s an awful feeling. 

I love to tell stories but sometimes my grammar is not the best that it could be. Am I working on that? Yes. But for now it is still a work in progress. When working around a rotating swing shift schedule and little one’s it’s a little harder than just taking a course.

Anyway…What I have found in my bouncing around are more and more people who say they can not truly respect someone who does not read for entertainment. And yes, everyone is entitled to their opinion and my opinion is that I don’t agree.

One of my biggest inspirations in life was my birth mother. She still to this day can not read. Knowing this as a child I read everything I could get my hands on because I did not want to be her (See, not so pretty inspiration). This lead to my love of reading and (a little further down the line) writing.

I know other people who do not find reading enjoyable because of the frustration’s of Dyslexia, A.D.D. or sometimes it’s just not encouraged or easily accessible. 

I was raised in a household where english was a second language (until we got older) and funding was tight (food before books). Day-to-day living was about survival not dreaming. I was lucky enough that the Philadelphia school systems encouraged independent reading. They would actually hold a book fair once or twice a year where you could go to the library, hand in your ticket and get a free book. It was beautiful.

I always picked fiction books. My real life was hard enough without having to read someone elses troubles. Do you know how terrible it is that after reading someone’s heart wrenching/tragic auto-biography  you look at the book and think “That’s it. Cry baby.” Let me tell you, you feel like a cold-hearted beast. I feel a little wrong for admitting it now but… I’m being truthful. As a kid this was how I felt.

I would lose myself in far-away lands with monster’s and hero’s on a daily basis. The second I got my new free book I would start reading and wouldn’t put it down until I was done. I walked home reading (dangerous, I know.) I ate diner reading and would even take my bath reading.

 I didn’t grow up wanting to be a writer, that was something I discovered later through my love of reading. The love of reading that developed through my childhood. Inspired by a mother who could not read. My grandmother that raised me who could barely read or speak english but worked like a dog. Close relatives that suffered with ADD or Dyslexia but who have many wonderful talent’s that I do not. Suffering through poverty so bad that there was nothing else to do but read and an enviroment so hostile you prayed to be able to escape if only in your mind through a book.

Inspiration is not alway’s pretty.

I’m off to write!