Through a series of events years later, I found myself in a position where I felt like I should write a book. It certainly didn’t feel like something that could be a real job. Not the sort of thing that could ever be possible for people like me. I had that fleeting moment of wondering whether or not I might be good enough to write the kind of book I loved reading, but again, it seemed like a pipe dream. I disagreed with her assessment but stayed quiet. She told me that she wanted me to do serious, academic writing. I asked her whether she thought I could write historical romances (as I adored historical romances), and I remember how startled she was. I’d had teachers tell me before that I was good at writing, but I thought lots of other kids probably got told exactly the same thing. One of my professors called me in to talk about my final paper and told me that I was a really good writer and that I could possibly do something with that someday. All I did was read dry historical textbooks day in, day out, and write papers about them. My senior year, still not knowing what I hoped to be when I graduated, I had to take six history classes and it nearly killed my love of reading. I wasn’t as interested in the dates and timelines, but rather how the people lived and what their day-to-day lives were like in the past. I majored in history, but knowing what I know now, I probably should have majored in anthropology. I was the first person in my family to graduate from college, so there were a lot of expectations of what I’d become and how I would use the opportunities given to me. They knew exactly where they were headed and how to get there. They were going to become architects and math professors and nurses and dance instructors. When I went off to college, I really envied my friends who had their career paths all figured out. At various points I wanted to be an actress, a teacher, a professor, a lawyer, a doctor, a therapist…I cycled through an extensive list on a regular basis, but always came back to teaching. I changed my mind so many times about what I hoped to be when I grew up. It never seemed like a real career path that someone like me could have. But I never really considered the possibility that I might be able to write a book and become a writer myself. I loved books and reading more than just about anything-it was how I spent most of my free time.

Growing up, I didn’t know anyone who was an actual writer.

Sariah wilson the paid bridesmaid