Why I am a writer?

The most typical response to this question would be “Because I loved to tell stories from the moment I learned to talk”. In reality, it’s more difficult.

 

I began writing in 1996. I began many things on that year and to me it is my second birthday, the moment everything changed. But I didn’t think back then that my future ambition would be writing books as thick as on the shelves of libraries. I wanted to be a cook, or my first love – become a cow keeper! And no, I’m not joking, this has been my dream since I learned to speak.

 

Then nature intervened. I learned from early age that what ever career I would have to choose, it had to be something I can do without being on my feet all day. Others with my destiny were less lucky – they had to learn this truth when they already had their dreams established.

 

Writing wasn’t my first love. I dreamt of becoming a painter, go in animation and make movies. Grandmother got me a book on how Disney characters are drawn and it was the time when the first documentaries arrived here how animations were made and I was hooked. I still think great deal of animation and there are techniques I have picked up that have helped me a lot on my journey to where I am now.

 

It wasn’t until end of High School that I started separating my two hobbies – writing and painting. By that time it had grown from simple blind impulse to replace that book my granny’s friend lost to something more serious. I find it still hard to believe I was so obsessed with the idea. But my love for art and crafts kept just as steady pace and in the end my art teacher approached me and told me that I now face a choice of my life – university and language, literature or art school and art. I didn’t spoke with her entire week.

 

Back at home I took out my art portfolio and my writings and just sat between them on my bed for long time. I knew I would be happy either way, but it was clear that if I didn’t make my choice then, I would be mediocre for the rest of my life, because I wouldn’t commit myself fully. One had to become my major, the other my hobby.

 

On the next art class I told my teacher that I’m choosing fiction. The decision was hard, but I have never regretted it. Art I do whenever it reaches out to me and I am very lucky I committed myself for it for so long – it is my second passion and will be for life, yet I believe it has given a lot to how I see this world and how I write. The feeling that you create is absolute joy.

 

At the same time the way I wrote… I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night to paint, but I did to write. My note books were often doodled with decorative edges, but in them weren’t lessons, but fantasies of aliens invading Tallinn. I went through 3 note books a month and often had to rewrite my note books before the inspections; because they consisted more of stories than what was suppose to be there.

 

By this I knew what my future would be. I knew, what ever my future has stored for me, I would still be painting with words, covering my characters with layers of varnish and tinting the paints of background perfect with little bit of oil or if needed, something far more flammable. I still paint, I have my paint chest just reach away, but my main passion, the absolute joy, is harvested from writing and that is good enough reason to me.

 

 * * *

 

Today’s post is my response to the prompt on Balance, this month’s topic for the Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour. Throughout the month, you can get to know twenty (or so) other writers from various genres and backgrounds and at various places in their careers.

 

Next stop on the tour is B.C. Matthews on July 21st, 2012.

 

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