Why am I a writer?

You know those moments that flicker into our lives every now and then that remind us that we’re doing what we’re meant to do?

For the doctor it’s saving a life that no one thought could be saved. For the teacher it’s the look of understanding that finally lights on a student’s face. For the writer it’s that confirmation that words really do make a difference.

I had one of those moments today.

I was lucky when I was in my senior year of college (oh, so long ago) to take an advanced poetry writing workshop with a brilliant poet, Susan Somers-Willett. Her class was one of the best I’ve ever taken, and getting to know Susan as a teacher, mentor, and friend has added so much to my life. She is an inspiration.

Well, her Facebook status last week was a comment about an experience she had reading a very beautiful and moving poem to her two-year-old daughter at bedtime. I was so inspired by this that I wrote a poem for her about it.

As an emerging writer, you never really know if you’re “good.” Sure, I’ve gotten a lot of positive criticism, but all in the sheltered environment of academia, where my audience knows me as a person, which I’m sure affects their opinion of my work. I’m pretty likeable, after all ;). Also, many of my peers were, I’m sure, reluctant to give me negative criticism directly to my face.

So when Susan read this poem today and dissolved into tears, telling me how much it meant to her, I was once again reminded why I do what I do.

I’ve never been anything other than a writer, and this is what I’ll always be. I’m doing what I’m meant to do.