I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was a little kid. I would come up with little stories and write them down on pieces of paper, then staple it all together to make a book. My imagination roamed the tallest mountains and deepest valleys, the darkest parts of the ocean and the brightest stars in the sky.

As I got older, this love of writing never died, and I found myself constantly pounding away at my keyboard in my free time, typing out all the stories that popped into my head. By the time college rolled around and I found myself needing to declare a major, the choice seemed almost too easy: Creative Writing.

I found my college, a liberal arts school with an amazing Creative Writing program. I applied and was accepted to both the school and the program, and found myself ticking down the days until move-in and my first Fiction class.

As the wait for college shortened and the number of days in high school did too, I grew accustomed to the constant questions from teachers, classmates, family, and friends: "What school are you going to? What's your major?" Susquehanna University, my friends, with a Creative Writing major (and, later on, an Italian major as well).

A week or so before graduation, I visited the middle school I attended with a few friends. Most of the teachers had already left after the school day ended, but a favorite history teacher of mine hadn't, so we visited her. I got the same questions about my school and major, but didn't get the response I was looking for when I told her that my major was going to be Creative Writing. "Great," she said, "And what's your backup plan?"

I've never been ignorant to the fact that my aspirations for my future were going to be a little harder to achieve than some other professions. The competition was fierce, the actual field of work even fiercer. You needed a tough skin to face rejection, and a tough heart to keep writing after hearing a lot of it. But I knew I would be able to handle it. Why couldn't other people see that?

After that day, more and more people wanted to know what my backup plan was. Reluctantly, I told them Editor, but it was hard hearing family and friends tell me that I wasn't going to make it in the world. Of course there were people who supported me unconditionally (hi mom and dad!) but for every person who supported my vision, there were five who questioned it. And every time I answered the "back-up plan" question with Editor, I felt like a small part of myself was lying.

So, here's my response to every one who doesn't understand, and no, it does not include a detailed outline of Plans B, C, and D. I am going to be a writer. I am going to write my little heart out and never work a day in my life, because when you love what you're doing, you never do. Is it going to be easy? Hell no. It's going to be long and difficult, and there are going to be days when my fingers can't find the right words to write out and the words of the last rejection letter will be all that rings in my head. But I'm going to write anyway.

I have a passion for words like a mathematician has a passion for equations. I am going to be a teacher of morals through stories, a reflection of society through a book. I am studying my craft because I want to excel at it. I'm not doing it just because I like it, and I'm not doing it because I have a plan to fall back on. I love writing more than anything else, and I want to do it now until my fingers become wrinkled and ridden with arthritis, until I take my last breath and I'm six feet under. I have a lot of stories in my head, and it's going to take a few forevers to write them all down.

To all those who still don't understand, think it's unrealistic, and/or still think I'm going to need that Plan B you're always going on about, here's what I have to say to you: you can express your concern for my future well-being all you want, but nothing is going to change my mind. So, you can either bite back your criticism and be happy for me and support me, or you can let it all out, but don't expect be to stand there and take it when you do. Either way, I am going to keep on writing.