I forgot how good it feels to write. Not just a short little blog, or a journal entry, and no, not even those lovely papers that we all enjoy writing. I’m talking about writing a short story, something I used to do frequently when I was young, but somehow got out of the habit of doing. To be honest, I haven’t written in years. I’d all but given it up. I’m not sure why. Up until sometime in high school, I was convinced I was going to become a novelist. And if not a novelist, well then, an English teacher who wrote on the side. But somehow I ended up getting a science degree, and thought sadly to myself (but would never admit) that I’d put the pen down for good! How, you ask? Perhaps it can first be traced back to my grade 9 science award. If I hadn’t gotten that, I’m not sure I would have had the confidence to do IB (International Baccalaureate) biology. But I did, loved it, and decided to enrol in biology and English in university. Already, my “science” identity was rivalling that of language arts, which was not so conducive to my creative writing efforts. My language arts identity got further eroded by a bad experience in first year English and my vow never to take another university English class ever again. SO science it was. Somehow in the midst of pipetting, dissecting, and studying, my writing (apart from labs or the odd paper) fell by the wayside. It was easy to let my “science” identity define myself, and not to make time for other things that mattered but that took time, like writing.

I suddenly looked back this year and realized that I can’t remember the last time I sat down to write just for the fun of it. But it had been too long; I was too intimidated to start something I knew I’d probably never finish. And where to start? What to write about? Then, hallelujah! One day I saw a poster for the Cynthia Davis Prize for Writing. It wasn’t even so much the prize that enticed me, but it was just the perfect excuse to get back into writing. It beckoned to me. I started to work away furiously at a story outline that day and typed long into the weekend. But then somehow I got busy, and let my writing go by the wayside (I’ll admit, my old friend writer’s block had a wee bit to do with this as well!). I realized it was the last week, and the due date happened to fall on the same day as our pharm exam. So much for that. I sighed. One more unfinished story. Sigh again. Another failed attempt to write. Add one more sigh.

But things seemed destined to align for me. For not only was the contest deadline extended, but for the first time in a very, very, VERY long time, I had the uncontrollable urge to write, and sat myself down at my laptop for seven hours straight (no breaks) and typed, not hesitating even once, my writer’s block all but gone, the story flowing from my fingers as fast as I could type it. Actually I think this has never happened before in my entire history of writing! I forgot how much I loved it, watching the characters develop and the story spring forth from my fingers, taking me to unexpected places, twisting the plot in ways I hadn’t thought of, exploring secret, long-buried corners of myself. For writing, as anyone who does it knows, is a deeply personal experience, whether you’re writing an autobiography or a novel about strange aliens on Planet Thoron. I had totally forgotten how gratifying it feels, the satisfying ache that penetrates to the very core of your being that you get when you can take a blank page and give it life that no one else could have. And you know what? I don’t even care if my story sucks. Considering I spewed most of it out in one sitting, it is probably not winning material, or even close. But just the satisfaction of knowing that I still have it in me, and the pleasure it gave me to write once more it makes it all worthwhile.

So tell me, what are your strange and buried talents? Things you used to do, but have long ago given up but secretly wished to restart? Take it from me, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve juggled, or knitted, or written poetry, or played with saws or a musical instrument or a baseball, no matter how dust-covered your old passion, it’s worth re-digging it up. Sure it may be rusty, but when it gets polished off, you’ll rediscover a side of yourself you’d long forgotten existed. Given the satisfaction and pleasure it brings you, you’ll wonder why in the world you gave it up in the first place. And if you’re lucky, you won’t let labels or lack of time let you bury it in the annals of “I used to be really good at…” ever again.