Mallory McDonald

I have never been particularly good at sharing. I know exactly what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and what I am going to do about it. But, when it comes to telling a person any of it, I seem to just smile and say, “Everything’s all good.”

 But, I can write. I am a word minded woman.

 Sometimes I want to think only of politics, education, or the latest crime or fire. Sometimes I want to make something up entirely–have a character say what I can’t, do what I won’t and be who I’m afraid to be. And sometimes I not scared–sometimes I face whatever I’m feeling head on. Sometimes I write the saddest, most accurate poem that gets to the exact core of me.

 I wasn’t born saying, “I’m a writer,” in a high pitched, pretentious, and self-important voice.

 I actually loved algebra. I loved knowing there would always be a right answer—that all I really needed to do was solve for ‘x.’

 But after pages and pages of work for algebra one, then algebra two, then pre-calculus and finally AP calculus, all I had in front of me was a stack of the same work anyone else could do. And in fact, it was the same work my classmates did do. And, I wanted to create something else.

 And I don’t think I’m just so interesting or have just so much to say. Because I’m just bopping around living the best I can like the rest of us.

 I believe in the power of the written word, the freedom of speech, the responsibility of the press, and the ability for a story to change the world.

 And it might sound cheesy, but it’s true. I write. That’s what I do.

 It started at first with a little Pooh Bear journal my sister Reilly gave to me. I was obsessed with filling the pages, writing the dates, watching first hand as my life–and time–went by. Sometimes the pages were filled with simply a review of the day, or which sister I was currently mad at. But, other times they were about what I wanted to do with my life, my faith or how much I loved to play Barbies.

 I was definitely a 10-year-old going on 35. I listened to my mom, to other adults, and I mimicked them the best I could in my speaking and in my writing.

 Then, I started writing songs. Because, you know, I was going to be the next Shania Twain. I had even practiced my Grammy acceptance speech and my interview with Oprah. But then I discovered fiction. I wrote a story about my made-up Indian Tribe inspired by my days covering the Sioux Indians in the second grade.

 But, I wasn’t just writing. I was reading. I started with classics like Magic Tree House Tonight on the Titanic,The Amazing Days of Abby Hayes, and I was obsessed with anything about Pluto, King Tut or the American Revolution. I read Boston Jane, and the Shopaholic series, books by Cathy Kelly, Barbara Delinsky and biographies of Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.

 I started my first “novel” my freshman year of high school. It was called It’s Always Sunny in June. June was a high school student who had lost her mother to cancer. The story would be about her journey, helping her family and staying bright and sunny despite the loss. Needless to say, it wasn’t published.

 Reading let me out of this world and into better one. Writing gave me the freedom and the power to make an entirely new world.

 But, where was the journalism?

 My younger sisters started a newspaper, The Hail Dail, after their names Hailey and Delaney. After the first issue I had taken over their paper, promoted myself to editor-in-chief and I renamed it toThe Hail Daily. (Total Mal move) I was also a contributing writer and helped bring in ads. But this was junior high. I wrote a story with my classmate Andrew, my sophomore year, about a man who was either insane or being framed by a secret organization. To do this day, the ending of that story might be some of my best work.  By my senior year, I was the editor of my high school paper and a feature editor for the yearbook too. And I was a paper carrier for the Pantagraph, the local paper in town. (Started from the bottom now I’m… still not there)

 Then came SMU. Countless English essays, poems, news articles, the novel I am currently almost done with and many broadcast packages. I have always written, always created something that isn’t just solving for ‘x,’ or memorizing (I can certainly do both). Because with writing, I fit. Everything I think, feel, want to do or to say, whether personal, professional or creative it makes sense–it has a place.

 F. Scott Fitzgerald is my favorite author. His meticulously strung together sentences changed my perspective on life, gave me a new hope for love, and inspired the kind of woman I strive to be, “God! Banish the thought. Why don’t you tell me that ‘if the girl had been worth having she’d have waited for you’? No, sir, the girl really worth having won’t wait for anybody.”

 His writing is not only true and intelligent, but also beautiful. Who knew words were so attractive? So lovely? So sexy? Thank you for that, F. Scott.

 “That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong,” F. Scott Fitzgerald said.

 So to anyone who was patient enough to read this: you belong. Whether you agree with my take on the world or not, there is someone out there who will understand you. And maybe writing doesn’t help you find it, but I hope it does.

 Fiction is the most powerful form of discourse. But so are all written words. Words lie there beautifully on the page not trying to be anything but exactly who they are. Not saying anything but exactly what they say. Yet, they ironically speak truths far beyond themselves. Words are a lot like people that way.

 Writing defines me, evolves me, and frees me.

 And because I can’t say it as well as he can, back to Fitzgerald one more time, “For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.”