Write. In my religion we’re taught that every living thing, every leaf, every bird, is only alive because it contains the secret word for life. That’s the only difference between us and a lump of clay. A word. Words are life, Liesel. –Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

I have always loved words. Reading. Spelling. Vocabulary. Journaling. Word art (real art, not the Microsoft version). Words are powerful. A carelessly chosen word can cause pain. A well chosen word can bring healing.

When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a writer. I wanted to write books that impacted people. But I wouldn’t write. I didn’t think I had anything new to say. I didn’t think I was all that interesting. I didn’t think I had enough credentials to write. While I’ve experienced a lot of things in my life, I don’t feel all that confident in sharing the lessons I’ve learned. So I just didn’t write.

In the last few years, a few people have encouraged me to write anyway. One friend gifted me a book called Speak as a not-so-subtle hint. Once when I was pointing out someone I had recently met, whom I admired, Mike said, “Yeah, but she hasn’t written a book.” When I said that I hadn’t either, he responded, “Yes, you have in your head.” My therapist has told me repeatedly that I have a book or two in me. Who knows if the future holds anything for me as a writer.

I am learning, though, that the act of writing – sitting down with pen and paper or at the computer and recording whatever comes to my mind – is healing for me. I write for me.

Last weekend, Mike bought me a new laptop. A beautiful, cutting edge Surface Book. He downloaded writing software. So I can write a book.

He said, “People with less credentials than you have written books. I know you don’t have time to write a book now, but I want you to know that I’m committed to supporting your passion.”

I recently joined an online writing group (http://hopewriters.com/). I find that a little overwhelming, too. They are sharing about monetizing blogs, writing book proposals, marketing books, etc. Thankfully, there are a lot of people there like me. They call us “hesitant writers.” A little over a year ago, I wrote an essay that I never shared called “the reluctant writer.”

Honestly, I’m not sure exactly why I’m sharing this with you. When I follow a blog and someone says, “Hey, I haven’t been writing much, but I’m going to start writing more,” I find it pretty annoying. And usually they don’t actually start writing more. But I feel like I need to be more intentional about writing if I ever want to be a writer. I’m hoping that saying this publicly will help keep myself accountable to actually write.

And now I have a spiffy new laptop to do it on, which is a great reminder that I have an invested supporter.