I was not an English major. My heartfelt essays in high school often came back redlined, oblivious of the content. My love of reading and journaling came from the only English teacher I liked, Mrs. Geselschap from my junior year. She let us read what we wanted and often suggested great books. The journaling habit continues to this day.
I could always write decently when required, yet it was not something I chose to do, especially majoring in the natural sciences. So I’ve wondered as I have become a writer in my 60’s, with words oozing from my core, where did the ability to express myself in poetry and prose come from?