New Author: Me?

I’ve been searching for my voice. I knew I was a writer, but I didn’t know what kind of writer. For the last 35 years, I’ve just been a person who writes well. I’ve made a career out of my talent and found pride in the work I produce, most of the time. But in my spare time, I’ve been searching for the voice that’s truly mine. The one I want to share with the world bearing my own name.

As someone who professionally switches voices for a living, writing a speech for a politician one day and an advertisement for a tech company the next, you’d think it would be easy to find my own. I can pick up quickly on the right words to say in a brand’s voice. The longer I work somewhere the more embedded the brand’s voice becomes in my head and the easier it gets to tell their story.

So why, at my age, do I have no clue how to express my own story?

Like the first page of a blank journal, I feel like the possibilities are endless but that there’s a distinct pressure to make this first page perfect. I’ve spent the last year cycling through various writing formats. But each time I revisit a chapter I’ve completed, it just feels like someone else talking.

That is, until last week. Something came over me, and suddenly, the words just started to flow. I found a way to explain the complexity, the strength, the trauma, and even the humor. And as tears streamed…