My name is Tracey and I am 43 years old. I have written personal journals and kept diaries since I was in my early teens. I find writing extremely theraputic, and consider myself a “venter”. I have to express my thoughts in order to work through them, whether it be talking it out with a friend, jotting them down in a notebook, or talking out loud in my car on my way to work.
I have wanted to tell my stories for many years. They have lived in my mind and in my journals for decades. Only a few people know about the stories that make my life what it is, and has made me who I am. I have finally gotten to a safe, calm place where I can peacefully reminisce about my life, the people that have been there, and the things I’ve experienced and done.
Now that I have this new power, I want to shout out loud, “Hey! Listen to this! You can’t make this shit up”! I want to try and share my stories, because they are unique and weird, tragic and stupid, funny, happy, embarassing, pathetic, triumphant, and magical.
I am scared, and I’m not sure where to start. I am not a “writer”, and I am going to make mistakes and look like an idiot in a world of brilliant storytellers and creative writers, and my goal is not to care. It’s taken me 27 years to feel this safe in my own head. I want to get these stories out before I change my mind! Ha!