The Heart Wants What It Writes

Have you ever had a passion so deep, it feels like falling in love? No roses or first kisses required—just that irresistible pull toward something that feels like it was meant for you. That’s how I feel about storytelling. It's messy. It’s thrilling. It’s that one love that’s stood the test of time. But let me back up a bit, because it wasn’t always this way.

Like most love stories, mine had a rocky beginning—with plenty of wrong turns, dramatic realizations, and moments of absolute chaos. Spoiler alert: writing wasn’t always “the one” for me. In fact, my life before finding it felt like the dating montage of a rom-com—entertaining, sure, but also a little bit all over the place.

Let me take you through it.

Chapter One: The High School Overachiever Diaries

Picture this: teenage Ebony at her all-girls private school in Dallas, knee socks, an overstuffed backpack, and one too many extracurriculars. My parents were the ultimate power couple—a cardiologist and a corporate attorney—and I was their little intellectual protégé. The unspoken rule in our house was that excellence wasn’t optional; it was expected.

So, I threw myself into every opportunity. National Honor Society president? Done. Debate team? Oh yeah. Saturday mornings spent volunteering instead of sleeping in like a normal teenager? Naturally. I treated life like a checklist. Somewhere between chemistry homework and violin recitals, I assumed I’d grow up to follow in my parents’ footsteps. That’s what you do, right? Pick a sensible path, keep your head down, and excel.

But then something unexpected happened: I started paying attention to the stories I was surrounded by. Not just the novels gathering dust on my mom’s bookshelves, but the ones happening every day in our community. I’d listen to my dad talk about his patients like they were family members. My mom’s law firm dinners were basically mini-soap operas with contracts as the plot twist. It hit me: people don’t just live—they create lives full of complexity, heartbreak, and moments of pure joy.

I didn’t fully know it yet, but storytelling had already started flirting with me.

Chapter Two: That Howard Spark

When I got to Howard University, that little storytelling flirtation turned into full-on fireworks. The campus itself felt like opening a novel where every character mattered. It was a place where people weren't afraid to talk about big ideas, big dreams, and big truths. And for me, something clicked in my first journalism class.

I remember sitting in a lecture where the professor broke down how a single sentence could shape an entire narrative. It was like being handed the keys to a world I never knew I belonged to. I was hooked. Journalism became my crash course in vulnerability—the good, the bad, and the spectacularly messy parts of humanity.

My first big lesson? Good writing is personal.

There’s this myth that journalism means staying detached, but trust me, even the stiffest “just the facts” reporter can’t separate themselves completely. We’re all bringing our histories, heartbreaks, and favorite Aretha Franklin lyrics to the table. So, I leaned into that. I wrote stories about local activists in D.C., articles unpacking gentrification, and profiles of students finding their voices in a world that tried to quiet them.

Of course, life wouldn’t let me stay in that bubble forever. Graduation loomed, and I had bills to pay. But one thing was clear: storytelling was no fling. I was all in.

Chapter Three: Politics, Burnout, and Finding My Way Back

After Howard, I became a political speechwriter for a Texas state representative—not exactly the romantic comedy finale I’d imagined for myself. Don’t get me wrong, politics comes with its own kind of drama, and I loved crafting words that could move people. But writing for politicians is like designing a wedding dress for someone else; you’re sacrificing creative freedom for the sake of their vision.

The long nights editing speeches, rehearsing soundbites, and staying up during legislative sessions? Exhausting. Add a few existential crises and several regret-filled vent sessions with friends over margaritas, and I was burnt out.

There were moments, staring at my laptop at 2 a.m., when I asked myself: “Is writing really my passion? Or am I just good at it?” It’s a question I’ve revisited a thousand times since, and my answer is always the same: writing isn’t just a skill I’ve honed; it’s how I connect with the world. It’s my voice, my compass, my love.

So, I decided to take a leap. I left political speechwriting and enrolled in an MFA program at the University of Texas in Austin—a city full of tacos, creativity, and enough weird energy to soothe my anxious soul. It was time to honor storytelling in a way I hadn’t before: by writing on my own terms.

Chapter Four: What Passion Taught Me About Love

Here’s a secret most people won’t tell you about passion—it’s not always sexy. In fact, passion can be just as unglamorous as your sweats-on-the-couch phase in a relationship. There were days during my MFA when I wrote for hours only to delete every word the next morning. I second-guessed myself constantly. Would anyone care about the stories I wanted to tell?

But love, real love, will ask for your commitment even when it’s messy. Passion works the same way. So, I stuck with it, using every setback as fuel to get better. Now, whether I’m writing fiction about family secrets or articles like, well, this one—I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.

Lessons Worth Passing On

So how do you fall in love with your passion and keep the spark alive? Here’s what I’ve learned:

  1. Let curiosity guide you. Your passion might not present itself with neon signs—it might just quietly tap you on the shoulder. Follow what makes you curious, and let it surprise you.

  2. Give yourself grace. The road to realizing your passion is rarely straight. It’s full of unexpected turns, flat tires, and yes, the occasional detour through self-doubt. That’s normal.

  3. Remember the “why.” Write down—not in your Notes app but on actual paper—why your passion matters to you. When times get tough, revisit that list.

  4. Celebrate the journey. Passion, like love, isn’t all about the destination. Appreciate the process, even the awkward growing pains.

The Happily-Ever-After (For Now)

Today, I’m a full-time writer—storyteller, essayist, novelist. Whatever hat I’m wearing, it’s because I chose to love this gift with everything I have. And isn’t that love at its best? Choosing something (or someone) again and again, even when it’s complicated, inconvenient, or downright scary.

So, here’s a little encouragement: if you’re still searching for your passion, don’t panic. Sometimes, it takes a while to figure out where your heart is. Other times, it’s been quiet in the background all along, waiting for you to notice it. Either way? You’re on your way to something magical.

Because the heart wants what it writes—or paints, or guides, or nurtures. And trust me, that wanting is everything.