I’m pretty sure the notebook is still in my parents’ basement, collecting dust in a corner somewhere. It is a plain composition notebook, the cover painted maroon with a smattering of stickers. I can’t remember exactly, but somewhere there must be written ‘Nicole’s Writers Notebook,’ or ‘WNB.’ Creating this notebook and writing in it every week was an assignment I received in third grade, and one I took very seriously. My teacher, Mrs. D, was constantly encouraging me to challenge myself and try different styles and formats of writing, and that I did. I remember some haikus, some short stories and plenty of acrostic poems from my WNB. Once I began, I realized that I actually loved to write, and that the creative possibilities I had with a blank notebook were endless. Mrs. D had nothing but praise for my work, and helped me expand my vocabulary by giving me as many and as challenging books as possible to read. I wrote about characters overcoming adversity: orphans, lost adventurers, outsiders looking for love and belonging. I liked to start my stories in the middle of the action, grabbing the reader’s attention as I was taught to do. Sometimes I would write in the stream of consciousness, pouring all my thoughts on the page without thought to organization or punctuation. It was a rare occurrence, however, for me to actually finish a story. I got stuck once I had plunged the characters into disaster, and never had the motivation to design an ending that wrapped up the pieces in a neat little bow. Whether it was laziness or a lapse in creativity I’m not sure, but now I have a hoard of unfinished writings in a little notebook and overflowing onto the loose leaf paper tucked into it. Anyway, the problem continues to this day, which is why it takes me so long to finish these blog posts. Oh well.

As I got older, my writing became more sophisticated (at least I like to think it did), and good grades on assignments in English class came easily to me. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but writing all those essays definitely allowed me to improve my skills, and I am grateful for the English teachers who pushed me the way that they did. I would never have admitted it then, but a little fire under my butt was sometimes what I needed. There is no doubt in my mind that my Common App essay and my personal statement helped me get into college and medical school, respectively. I am incredibly proud of them. My writing career slowed dramatically once I entered college, due to the scientific nature of my courses and the lack of time for many hobbies. I was disappointed, but at the same time I came to love other disciplines like biology and anatomy, and discovered my passion for medicine. Even so, on some days that were ‘not so great’ emotionally, I did manage to pick up the pen and do some journaling. It helped to put my thoughts on paper, when I thought they were too dark to say out loud. I am fairly certain that I have since destroyed most of those pages, but writing them was cathartic, as is writing this blog.

I don’t say all of this to pat myself on the back. There are far better writers than me, and I don’t expect to be writing any great works of literature any time soon. I just wanted to take you on a little journey with me, back to the beginning. The best part is, I was able to take that journey physically a few years ago. I walked down the halls of my old elementary school in NJ, marveling at how small everything looked as compared to my memories of the place. I got to the last room on the right, holding my breath as I knocked on the door. I realized that Mrs. D might not even be there, as it was at least an hour after the students were dismissed, but sure enough she opened the door with a stunned expression. She broke into a smile and enveloped me in a warm hug, which I returned awkwardly, as I still saw her as my teacher after all those years. The very first thing out of her mouth, besides “Oh my gosh I can’t believe this!” was “are you still writing?” I actually wasn’t doing much of it at the time, as this was when I was in college, but I told her how much I still loved it, and how grateful I was that she had started me down that path.

So, here I am, writing my heart out for you all after I rediscovered how great it feels. My pen has largely been replaced by a keyboard, but when I write just for myself I prefer a good old notebook. Mrs. D has since retired, and I don’t have her contact information, but a part of me hopes that she sees this blog one day. One day I am going to look back on this post, just as I look back at my writer’s notebook, and see how much has changed. Even though I may go through creative droughts, however, my passion for this will remain the same.