Welcome to Write of Passage

Consider this your 'write' of passage.

“Hi, I’m Sammi, and I’m a writer” is how I usually introduce myself.

And that statement isn’t wrong, necessarily. Ever since I was a child, I’d draw picture books on printer paper while sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor. In high school, I quit soccer—one of my first loves—to join the school newspaper, which propelled me toward a journalism career. Eventually, this led to my current position as a full-time freelance writer for various publications, covering mental health, lifestyle, business, finance, and more.

I also started writing my first fiction novel in college and finished within a few years post-grad. My poetry collection, which includes poems from as early as my freshman year of university, will be out next Friday. 

So, yes—I am a writer. But that’s certainly not all I am. (As if our identities could fit neatly into a labeled box, but that’s a topic for another day.)

When you think “writer,” you might immediately imagine a girl with ink-stained fingertips and thick glasses sipping coffee out of a mug the size of a soup bowl at your local cafe. And this wouldn’t be far off, in my case.

But what really makes a writer?

A writer is someone who doesn’t only notice the world but truly attempts to understand it. My job isn’t just to put pen to paper (or fingertips to keyboards), but rather to make sense of this journey we call life. 

A few years ago, my dad and I were watching a music video for a popular song. While he, a musician, was mesmerized by the singer’s voice, I absorbed the artistry of the clip, which captured a child dancing in a somewhat “manic” state.

“This music video is bizarre, huh?” my dad said, laughing.

“I don’t know…I kinda love it,” I told him, tilting my head as I analyzed the scene. “I think it symbolizes an internal struggle with mental health issues. The child looks like a younger version of the singer, and it’s almost as though she’s stuck in some sort of bleak living space. Maybe, somewhere in her body, her ‘inner child’ is trapped, throwing tantrums and losing touch with reality. She can feel herself reverting to a child-like state, and her mind itself isn’t necessarily a warm or inviting environment.”

My dad looked at me, amused. “I just thought she was dancing weird.”

Writers put meaning to everything (a common complaint I’ve received in most of my relationships). We dissect and question and ruminate until we’re blue in the face, only able to find relief through words. However, many of us are also timid souls who prefer to share our thoughts and ideas without ever having to speak them aloud.

So…Hi, I’m Sammi, and I’m a writer, among many other things.

Consider this blog your write of passage—a place where you can dive into the subconscious mind of a poet who drinks a little too much coffee and isn’t afraid to cry at the cafe while drafting manuscripts. A place to read ramblings from a 20-something girl navigating her writing career, mental health, and other life experiences. A place where your humanity is validated through personal anecdotes and untold stories. A place where your voice—no matter the volume—matters.

Welcome to the warm, cozy nook of the internet. I’m so happy you’re here.

Love and moonlight,

Sammi