Blogging 101: Day 1
Hello, Blogging World! I’m Debbie Dey.
Well, sort of.
Debbie Dey is actually my pen name, so I sometimes feel a little deceptive when posting here. While my initial reason for choosing to write under a pseudonym was fairly unassuming – the name I use for everyday life is so common that it would be difficult to brand my writing as my own – but I’ve discovered a sense of freedom in using it now, that I never imagined.
So, to answer the “Who am I?” portion of this exercise, I find myself delving deep into my subconscious. First and foremost, Debbie Dey is a writer. It’s what I dreamt of as a child. I learned early that I had the “gift of gab” with both verbal and written communications. I cultivated my gift with stories, poems, essays, letters and journal entries that filled volumes. My teachers regularly rewarded my prose with glowing reports and exceptional grades. I found this “secret trick” worked in all my classes, not just English. It seemed that whenever I could write an essay or craft a story, I did well. Teachers loved me, classmates thought I was a brilliant, and I loved the attention.
It was almost too easy. I honestly didn’t feel that smart. There were plenty of kids in my class that knew a lot more than I did, but they couldn’t write. So, I kept up the charade from elementary school, through junior high and into senior high. I kept weaving my stories into various forms, winning contests at local newspapers, being published in school magazines and just having fun.
I had my career goal established long before I was old enough to enter college; I was going to be a journalist. It made perfect sense – I loved writing, and I was good at it. As life would have it, though, a splash of ice cold water doused my plans.
In my senior year of high school, I had earned sufficient credit to enroll in an elective Creative Writing course. I remember that first day vividly. The anticipation was electric. To finally be in a classroom with kids who chose to be there and wanted to write was like a dream come true. I came to class with my favorite fine-point Bic pen, a pristine notebook, and a clear mind ready to create. I took my usual seat in the front row and anxiously awaited the inevitable opportunity to stand out. When everyone shied away from participating that first day, I would always sit up front with a ready smile and hand raised high.
That’s when it happened…
the end of childhood as I knew it.
The teacher was unfazed by my enthusiasm, my classmates were all pretty good writers, and according to the aforementioned teacher, I was not. Every assignment was met with more red pen marks than I had ever seen and less-than-subtle hints that creative writing “just wasn’t my thing.”
Wow! I certainly hadn’t expected that response; and to be honest, I didn’t take it very well. Obviously, I wasn’t as good as I thought, and it was time to move on. I passed the class, but the experience forced me to re-evaluate my passion and goals for a future in that business.
I’ve had a great career as an administrative assistant, but I’ve never stopped creating. Private musings were never subject to ridicule, so I happily scribbled away in my journals for years. I should have known that eventually it wouldn’t be enough, and I’d have to share my gift again. I’ve been ghostwriting for years, submitting well-crafted real estate descriptions for our local paper. No name. No pressure.
Which leads me to “Why am I here?”
I’m a writer. I was then, and I am now. I’ve learned long ago that writing is subjective and that not everyone is going to like what I have to say. And that’s okay.
Some may say I’m hiding behind my pen name, and they might be right. But it doesn’t matter. It’s time to dust off the special gift I was born with and see what it can do. I’m beyond excited to get back to creating, and I’m so happy to share my art with those that will appreciate the effort.