I don't want to mess this up.

So, I'm kind of a stress-bot. A professional over thinker. A cynical marshmallow. (I don't exactly think that last one is a real thing, but in my life, it may as well be). I've been stressing out about my future since I was, like, 12. Back in elementary school, I used to run up to my substitute teachers and say "do you know what I want to be when I grow up?" The answer was no where close to 'author.'

I, in all my inexperience, my 'yet-to-be-sabotaged' academic confidence, and my thirst for a Pink Volkswagen Convertible, told everyone and everything that I was going to be a Speech-Language Pathologist. Three words. Two immigrant parents with high expectations. One very stressed out new adult aspiring for one extremely competitive career.

I haven't always wanted to write books. I started writing at 14. They were responses to people's questions on Yahoo Answers. I was depressed and unaware that I was depressed. I called Kid's Help Phone and eventually that conversation boiled down to "well, what makes you happy?" This time, my answer was closer to 'author.' "Writing," I said. "So then do that," the person on the phone replied. I don't know who that person was, but I'm indebted to them for the rest of my existence.

So I did that. Eventually, those Yahoo responses turned into a fan fiction one-shot, which turned into almost one-million words for fan fiction about the television series called "The Secret Life of the American Teenager." (Please, don't judge me). The entire time, I was planning on studying science--SCIENCE!-- in university. Grade 11 chemistry kicked me right in the ass with that idea. So I changed my mind and decided to study Linguistics instead (having never researched what Linguistics was. Don't do this!!!!)

Now I was in university. And it was harder than I thought. It was less exciting than I thought. It was WAY more exhausting than I thought. And Linguistics? IT SUCKED! (Disclaimer: It sucked for me, maybe you will love it. If you're thinking about studying something, then take an introductory course. Intro classes really are great. Because if you hate the material---okay, I won't get into it, but if you hate the material, don't do what I did and stay in the freaking program).

English--however--english was GREAT. Halfway through my first year, I am finally ready to say goodbye to fan fiction and try my hand at my own personal writing. "For fun," I told myself. Gosh, I really was naive, wasn't I? (Writing has always been fun, that's not what I mean. Before this point, writing was a casual hobby. Not my lifeline).

My first substantial story idea found me at the end of 2014. It's the story I've spun into two and a half drafts. It's the story I'm revising now. It's the story I am going to publish one day.

It's also the story currently turning my life upside down. Somewhere between running up to those substitute teachers when I was 12, and spending all of today in my pyjamas with tear-streaked cheeks, I stopped wanting to be a speech therapist and started needing to be an author.

The hard part is: I don't know who I am without that nine-year-long aspiration of getting a masters degree in speech pathology. It's been my crutch, it's been my fallback, it's been the thing I tell strangers to impress them. Everyone is excited for me---except myself.

I desperately want to write. I desperately want to make my dreams come true. I also don't want to fail.

Coming from a family without a lot of money, I've seen how important it is to have a good paying job.

My parents equated happiness to job security, mortgage payments, and a boss who isn't an asshole.

They didn't tell me to follow my dreams, they told me to get a good education. And that's what I've tried to do. And it's not working.

Where do I go from here? I've been back and forth so many times it's actually really embarrassing. The way I see it, my book has no chance of sitting on the shelves in Indigo if I don't give every piece of myself to my passion. The thing is, there's people expecting me to get that masters degree. They've worked hard so I can have better. And I don't know how to tell them that I no longer want what they've fought for me to have.

I'm scared. I don't know if I'll ever succeed at this writing thing. If you're an aspiring author, too, then you 10000% can relate.

My apologies for making this the longest of blog posts. The first time I ever wrote a one-shot, I said something like, "sorry if this is short, but its really a good thing, because I write a lot!"

Apparently, I wasn't lying.

If anyone ever reads this post besides me, thank you. You're amazing. If you're in a similar situation, I sympathize. And I really hope you get where you want to go.

I'll be back the next time I'm on the verge of an existential crisis beneath a tear-stained sweater.

Dare to dream,

Brooke Cheyenne x