Getting back to my roots.

So, most of you know that as a child all I wanted to do was be a writer. It was my passion, my calling. I had an active, no , overactive imagination and writing was a great way to harness that energy. All though the technicalities of English were never my strong point, I loved the creative side. I wrote short stories and poems all through my elementary school year. Dad even claims that I wrote my first poem at the age of 3 or 4. Junior High brought with it the introduction to journalism and all it entails. Deadlines, headlines, bylines and layouts. I was in HEAVEN!!!!
I had found Nirvana, my English teachers all thought I was talented and to be honest so did I. I had grown up with an amazing support system. There was never any doubt in my mind that I was not as talented as Mom and Dad said I was. High school came and so did more demanding teachers and tougher assignments, but I persevered and blossomed. But then came my junior year and the teacher that burst my bubble. I was not sure what I had done to get on her bad side, but she did not like me one bit. Perhaps I was over confident and cocky with my work, but in her eyes I could do no right. Paper after paper came back, bleeding with slashes of red ink. My grammar was horrendous, my spelling atrocious, my format ghastly and my ideas were all either outlandish or dull. I started skipping English class and didn't even bother to hand in most assignments. I doubted everything I wrote. I loved writing for the newspaper but my doubt crept in there too. I volunteered to run the layout of the paper and only wrote the required one article an issue. Eventually Dad stepped in and had me transferred out of this teachers class, but I couldn't shake my self doubt.
The next year I opted not to take English and got involved with medicine which was great but that is another story for another time. I tried English out again in college, testing out of 1010 and took a creative writing class. But I couldn't help comparing my skills to those around me instead of appreciating my work for what it was. I no longer enjoyed writing because I was constantly criticising and analysing what ever I wrote. I dropped out of the class half way through because I was so stressed about letting others read my work and what they might think about it. I haven't really written much since then. Honestly I don't think that I have written a work of fiction in over five years.
So finally after much rambling, I get to my point. What happened? Why did I let what one person thought, for that matter what anyone thought, get in the way of doing what I loved? I still love to write, I know that much. And I can assume that I am reasonably talented, or at least I was.
So I have decided that it is time, time to make the effort to rekindle my passion. To start writing again with out caring whether or not it is "good". To do something just to do it, just to experience the joy of putting pen to paper.
I came across a "mormon message" my Dieter F. Uchtdorf that concreted this idea in my head. You should all watch it, it is amazing and might just inspire you to dust of the cobwebs of your long lost creative passions.