For the longest time, and more or less as far back as I can remember, I always wanted to write. I was always under the impression that I wanted to write fiction. To write the Great Canadian Novel, or be the new J.K Rowling or Stephen King. I loved to immerse myself in novels for hours and hours, and I wanted to be those writers, telling those stories. Those stories that moved people, drew them into the story, and made them feel like they were living the lives of my characters along with the character. But, to be honest, I really really suck at writing fiction!! I can pull off a good short story, I always did well enough at any assignments for creative writing, and I can write fiction if it’s assigned and I have a good draft or idea to follow. But I was stuck, because I’d start to write something and always feel incredibly disappointed in myself that I couldn’t either finish what I was writing, or that it wasn’t any good.
Meanwhile, I was growing up and getting older and writing assignments for classes, starting school newspapers and being on yearbook committees and getting rave reviews for my writing, but I was still struggling with the fact I couldn’t write fiction to save my life. Call me oblivious or what? The university era started and I found that I was in love. With writing RESEARCH papers! And essays and 25 page papers on the social costs of IBM computers (hey, that one got 26/25 and an A+ baby…not that I care about grades or anything 
) and 10 page defending papers on the ethical implications of assisted reproduction techniques. I could pull a 20-page essay, fully researched, out of my ass in hours. Yet I still struggled with the fact I “couldn’t write”. I never wrote a paper, in any class, expect for one class with this one horrid professor (everyone sucked in that class!) that was less than a high B+. My professors raved about the writing I did. People that I sent weekly email updates too about mundane things thought the writing was great. Fellow students wanted me to help write their papers. Heck, I even had a letter to the editor published that turned into a full-fledged article and brought a lot of press to a social issue that was affecting parents who were also students. However, I was convinced, since I couldn’t write fiction, I couldn’t write.
I can be a real dumbass sometimes!
In the last year or so, I started writing more than I had in the year or so before that. Still with the misguided thoughts I kinda sucked as a writer because I couldn’t write fiction, but I had all these things to say and opinions to share and I figured I better find a forum for them before either my head exploded or I said something to the wrong person. And, wouldn’t you know it, the writing wasn’t half bad And I really enjoyed it; I’d enjoyed it all along, but I didn’t see it as my….dream? skill? ability? the thing I “had” to do? Something like that. So though I was writing, and getting feedback and feeling like I was contributing and that I had something to say, I still wasn’t a writer.
Today it occurred to me. I AM a writer, and a very darn good one. Who cares if I can’t write fiction, I’m sure the majority of fiction writers would HATE to write non-fiction. And probably vice versa though I know there’s always exceptions to the rule. Maybe one day I’ll find a ghost writer who can write the stories that come to me but that I can’t seem to get on paper.
I am a writer. I’m writing a chapter for an unschooling book, I’ve taken on a new “job” doing writing for the local Green Party (more on that to come in a later post), I write posts for various online spots, I write here and other places. Though I may never have a NY Times top 10 novel, or maybe never have a best seller on Amazon’s non-fiction list, who cares. I AM a writer, I CAN write and I DO write.
It just took me a little time to figure it out, that’s all 
So they’re not affected by it, which is great, but it’s a lot of work parenting this way.
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