The beginning...

I never intended to be a writer.

Its true. When I was a kid I didn't dream about being a writer or telling stories... but some times the Universe sets a path that despite our best attempts, we just end up following.

Maybe the thing that set me firmly on the path to being a journalist and writer was that I was never afraid to ask to ask people questions. I wanted to know as much about everything as I possibly could. It never occurred to me that, perhaps, I should ask the questions out loud that were in my head.

My poor parents had more than their fair share of awkward gapes and incredulous stares to talk their way out of after their child asked questions that were, "inappropriate."

Really, when I think back to my childhood curiosity, nothing I asked was ever inappropriate, but rather quizzical and insightful, which I think might have been more disarming than anything.

I taught myself how to read around 4-years-old and by the time I entered kindergarten, I could already write in cursive, but my self taught skills lacked refinement. I struggled with what is now known as dyslexia, but when I was in grade school teachers didn't know or readily recognize learning challenges. Learning to spell was agonizing. Doing math problems involving two digit or more numbers was excruciating. I couldn't keep the order straight.

My grades never reflected my intelligence or my work ethic. I had to work twice as hard to complete the same task as everyone else and it eventually paid off. My grades started to reflect my hard work.

In my junior year of high school, at just 16-years-old, I was permitted to enter the nursing vocational program offered by my school district.

I was the youngest in the program, which didn't typically allow for juniors to enter. An exception was made in my case because of my strong work ethic and stellar grades.

After my first year in the program I was eligible to sit for the State Board exam to get my certified nursing assistant license. I couldn't have been more nervous - I hadn't even taken the SAT or ACT yet.

After completing two years in the medical vocational program I was feeling more lost than ever. I knew I was good at science and was a talented care-giver, but the emotional drain of seeing people sick, and sometimes die was more than I was ready to handle.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue in nursing. I wasn't sure that I wanted to go to college. I wasn't sure of anything, so I did what many new high school graduates who are unsure of themselves do - I delayed going to college by a year to figure out what I wanted to do.

Finally, when I realized that not going to college wasn't an option for me I enrolled and declared education as my major. At the time, the requirements for teacher licensing were changing almost daily and it made it very difficult to complete the required course work, so I change my major to biology resolving myself to going back into medicine.

I liked biology and was pretty good at it, but after my experience in nursing I never felt invigorated by it. Just as I was about to complete all of the biology classes for my major I was informed by my adviser that I still had to pass six credits worth of chemistry classes.

Dutifully, I enrolled in the first of the two chemistry classes - basic chemistry, the easiest chemistry class available. It didn't take long for me to become overwhelmed. This was my nightmare - an abstract for of science that required a lot of math skill to understand.

I tried twice to pass chemistry.

I had never failed before and this one stung even more because without the chemistry, I couldn't complete my biology major.

While I was floundering in chemistry and feeling miserable about my future, I happened to be enrolled in English Composition - a required class for all students. Our assignment at the beginning of the semester was to write a research paper on a controversial topic with compelling arguments and insightful quotes.

For me, finding the topic of my paper was easy. I had been studying stem cells research in my biology class and, at the time, stem cell research was still largely under the radar, but what little had surfaced about it was regarded with baited breath.

My English professor delighted in the fact that my work was consistently turned in ahead of schedule and was well researched and written.

At the end of the semester, during our final conference she made an offhand remark that changed my life entirely.

She had known, from the explanation of how I came up with my topic and research materials that I was in the biology program. At our final meeting she said, "It's a shame that you are studying to be a biologist. You are a really good writer. Have you ever considered changing your major?"

Her comment stopped my world.

I was, in fact, struggling to come up with a plan for graduation since I couldn't pass the chemistry classes required to get my degree. 'Could I be a writer?' I wondered.

My response was something along the lines of, "I don't want to be poor for the rest of my life." To which she laughed and agreed that there wasn't a lot of money to be made from a degree in English, so she suggested that I look into the journalism program instead, saying that while they didn't make tons of money, work was more easy to find as a journalist and the topic of writing was more concrete than writing "stories."

The next day I switched my major to journalism and plowed through the program, building a reputation for myself as the hardworking, no-nonsense, achiever.

Even though it was part of our job as budding journalists to ask questions, I found that most of the other students weren't - at least not ones that anyone really wanted to know the answers to - but I did.

I wanted to know what it was going to be like to work in the field, so I started to inquire about where I could get some experience. The student newspaper - The Metropolitan Newspaper - was my best option, but it was already the middle of the fall semester and the job opportunities were  all filled.

I wanted on staff, but none of the section editor jobs sounded appealing, even if they had been open. I wanted something that was going to allow me to write about things that interested me, so I went to the editor-in-chief at the time and proposed that we create a music section and that I would head it up.

Essentially, I was creating a position for myself, one that was custom cut to my liking - it was more than thrilling. Thankfully, he was equally thrilled, loving the idea for the new section and that he would have a total go-getter on his team.

My ambition and willingness to work harder than anyone else on staff paid off - I was the editor of the music section and for a short time I acted as the sports editor, too.

No one on staff had managed two sections simultaneously. Granted, I didn't do it for long, but we were all still in college and I worked another job on campus, too.

I loved my new identity as a journalist. I loved the writing, but it was the research that I loved the most - the asking questions and drawing out the story's that people sometimes didn't know they had in them.

Since then, I have met and interviewed hundreds of people - some more willing to share than others, but I have never taken for granted that the fact that every time I ask someone a question, I am, in essence, asking them to share their story with me; to allow me to be part of their life in a way that most people don't get to.

Through my work, I am privileged to witness moments of great achievement and moments of deep pain.

I never set out to be a writer, but I wouldn't change a thing. 

Thank you for sharing in my journey. I hope you like "Stories behind the story."