This is the first of a series of blog posts by IWC members on their writing lives.

I was long and lanky. Such a cruel trick my body played on
my mother; I was no longer her doll to dress and display.  I was growing up and growing away from my
1950s upbringing.  That is where my
writing began. 

I was born under a tower of men, that is, I had a strong
father and two strong older brothers. 
Although I was a “girlie” girl, I thought their lives more fulfilling
than my mother’s and mine.  Not only were
they being raised to make history (while I was being raised to make beds) they
played sports every afternoon while I strolled my baby sister like a “little
mother.” 

My father did recognize the reader in me and took me to the
library once a week on Saturdays.  I
turned to books to live out my real life, a life where I was still a girl, but
moreover, I was a person, with dreams and abilities.  When I ran out of children’s books, I found a
book that was going to change the direction of my life. I didn’t know it then,
but I was going to be a writer.   The
book was To Kill a Mockingbird.” 
Although it was to be years later that I began to seriously write, Scout
and Jem and Atticus were always with me. 
Even at the age of ten, I seemed to realize the enormous impact wielded
by a writer.   

I had written stories as a child, but back then, no one in
my family understood (including me) that writing is a craft that must be
taught.  As I entered the vestibule
between childhood and adulthood, I found myself reading more and more, but not writing.
There were no creative writing classes or writing units in school in the
1960s. 

Entering my teenage years, I must admit I read every issue
of Seventeen Magazine, but I also  read
all the classics we were assigned in English class, read all the Shakespeare
plays the summer before my senior year (my summer of Shakespeare as I like to
call it) and when I entered university, prepared to be an English major, I
found myself in love and married two years later.

Somewhere along the way, I lost the writer whispering inside
of me.  It wasn’t until three children
later, that the whispering writer, hollered. 
“Go back to school.”  I did.  I completed my remaining two years of
undergrad in 2010 and I am currently a Masters of Fine Arts candidate at Butler
University here in Indianapolis. 

Along the way, I enrolled in Writers Center classes and
continue to do so.  One of the reasons, I
was motivated to apply for acceptance into Butler’s MFA program was because of
the tutoring of the Writers Center here in Indianapolis.  The teachers, classes and workshops gave me
opportunities to be part of a writing community and to hone my writing.  It prepared me to write in undergrad and
graduate school.  I continue to take
classes at the Writers Center, even though I am in graduate school, because of
the quality of the programs.  I am a
member of the Writers Center.  I always
will be.   I am now a professional writer.  I always was a writer, I just needed a place
like the Writers Center to bring me back to Scout and Jem and Atticus.

Deanna Morris

If you’re a member of the IWC, please consider submitting a short essay (up to 1,000) words about your writing life. Submissions should be e-mailed to barbshoup@indianawriters.org