To Myself, Age 8

To Myself, Age 8


Never stop writing, little one.

As a child, stories were plentiful and unfinished.  As a teenager, angst flowed into journals. As a young adult, being a writer seemed impractical.

The day may come when you will look for other things that you are “good at.”  Writing may fall to the side.  You may not even write for yourself.

It could return in the adventure into parenthood.  It might start out as pragmatic.  When your journey encounters grief, writing will deepen. It will become essential.  You will bare a small, jagged piece of your broken heart.

Be brave, little one.  Believe that you have a story to tell. Believe that someone will take a moment to read.  You were unaware of how the world would change: the outlet of writing expanded beyond printed books. Who could have dreamed, back then, of an instant medium?

Stay present, little one. You will spend too much time looking forward, to the next stage, the next milestone.  Eventually the present may be hard, but looking into the future will be harder.  Be still in the present. Try not to move too fast.

Keep writing, little one. Not every word will be altering.  Not every phrase will be meaningful. Not every verse will be poetic.  But in the end, the words are yours.


“The main thing that I would say to somebody who’s looking to do creative work is, just do it now,” he said. “Don’t wait. It’s so hard to make anything, that it’s just easy to put it off, and be like, when I get the right financing, when I get the right this or that — just start doing it now.” -Ira Glass