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Memoir

I never wanted to be a writer.

There. I said it.

It is a truth I came to terms with the moment I realized I was a writer. That moment unfolds in my mind as if a recent memory, as if it were yesterday. The day began like every other: I walked through the doors of a 98% vacant office building. Everyone except myself and two others had relocated to the new, bigger office. I remained to field visitors to the new location who were unaware of the change. It appeared most were aware of the changes because barely anyone came into the office, which left me with plenty time to find something to occupy it with. I quickly tired myself of games online and chatrooms (they were as close as you could get to social media back then). Not only had I found myself bored on the job, I was also bored with life. In all regards, what would I do next?

My internal question became external dialogue with me and the air. There’s got to be more to life than this, I declared. A response was the last thing I expected, but the words whispered in my ear reverberated to my core. They awakened my soul. I welcomed them like a twin separated at birth.

“Monica Brown, that’s my name. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”

I didn’t know who Monica Brown was or why someone would continue to ask for her name. What I did know was that I wanted to find out. Immediately, I shut down the games on the computer screen, exited the chatrooms, opened a blank document, and typed every word that filled the air. Monica Brown sat in an empty chair and poured out her soul to me.

She talked.

I wrote.

I’ve been writing ever since.

I am Julia T. Williams—sometimes Julia Blues—and I am a writer.

I write from my soul to touch yours.