When I was five years old, I learned how to write the alphabet. By second grade, I was a self-proclaimed reader and daily dairy enthusiast. I would retreat to my room (I always enjoyed a good isolation session) and write down the banalities of my life: what my parents were up to, which playdate I had that day, who my friends were, what first grade was like, etc.
My diaries were my treasure; the treasure I didn’t have to share with anyone.
And thus started not only my relationship with writing, but my relationship with myself – for that is all writing is: a private exploration of your soul’s subconscious.
All through elementary school, I read like a race car driver. Reading was one of my favorite pastimes, opening the door for what my prose – even as an eight year old – could read like.
These introspective activities – reading and writing – were so meshed with the essence of who I was and who I am today. I can pin point those early warning signs. My mind had a lot to untangle and it preferred to do it alone.
By the time I entered middle school, my diary entries turned to poems. I began delving into poetry. I wish I could remember the exact catalyst that caused this shift, but I don’t. All I remember is I wrote my first poem about world peace and why we couldn’t find it and read it out loud in my English class. The adults were impressed by my naive ability to tackle such a large subject while my classmates might have uttered a word of praise under their breath. I remember connecting with adults. It was a breath of easy air.
All throughout middle school, I wrote. Poem after poem after poem. A short story here and there. Filling all of my notebooks.
In eighth grade, my mother bought me The Collected Works of Allen Ginsberg and that was all it took for me to identify myself as a writer. I devoured his works – which were raw, provocative, brilliant, and heart breaking. I remember wanting to read one of his poems in front of my English class but was turned down since the word “cock” had been used one too many times. For me, poetry and art knew no inappropriate boundaries. I still find that moment to be a missed opportunity for so many.
In eight grade, I was also introduced to the world of magazines. Teen Vogue came every month to my doorstep and I would lock myself in my room as I devoured each chic, relevant, and cool page. I remember not letting my sister read it until I was 100% done. It was my fashionable escape.
So, a few things were brewing: the world of poetry and creative writing, the world of journalism and fashion magazines.
I wanted to land somewhere in between.
In many ways, I have. I am currently working on the first draft of a book of short stories and poetry. I never stopped writing even throughout my career – in which I published my own magazine at the age of 22 that was sold in Barnes & Noble locations and newsstands across the country. I then went on to co-found a women’s media site.
And then I created my own space: REVUE and PODCAST by scout.
Here, I get to combine it all: my writing, connecting with other women, celebrating culture, forging my own aesthetic path.
And as I forge, I also write. Replace any word with the word ‘forge’ and the sentence will ring true.
I write, therefore I am.