I thought I’d take a little trek down Memory Lane via Sentimental Highway and talk a bit about my writing journey.
My family has a home video of me at age three telling a story in an unintelligible Southern accent about pink dogs (my mom translates in the video, which is the only reason we can understand it now). So basically: I’ve been telling stories since I could talk.
Growing up, Dad read to me and my siblings every night—you know, the light stuff like Lord of the Rings (three times between the span of me being 7-13) and Once and Future King. After he’d tucked us in, I used to lie in the top bunk of the bunkbed and tell my sister stories until we fell asleep.
When I was eleven, we moved and I got my own room. Huzzah! Except, now I had no one to tell my stories to every night. I tried whispering them to myself (part auditory learner, so I could never remember anything I didn’t say). Then one night after I’d been talking to myself for a while, my sister tumbled out of my closet and said, “What are you doing?”
(Yes, she had been hiding in my closet to scare me.)
So I had to give that up or risk being labeled crazy (well, crazier). (Though the real question is: Is it more crazy to talk to yourself or to hide in people’s closets? Debate it in the comments!)
I decided to start writing my stories down. A few months later, I “finished” my first “book” (50 pages of awfulness) and committed to my future as an writing addict.
16-year-old me in a self-portrait for Photography 101. That’s my cousin and the same sister dressed as Will Turner and Jack Sparrow having a legit sword fight behind me. Also look at my tiny non-arthritic fingers! D’awwww.
During my teen years, I moved a lot. Writing and books became a constant: a willing friend and safe place at a time of upheaval. Whatever was happening in my real life, I always had a somewhere to retreat, process, and have fun.
When I went to college, I never had a second thought about getting my bachelor’s in English. I worked on the student literary journal, and put my time in with Public Relations and Philanthropic Communications to experience the wide range of styles out there. I ran the local NaNoWriMo group on campus and in the community a few times, which was fun. I’ll never forget the verbal smackdown a friend and I had in the student lounge. (I saw said friend across the room and shouted, “You’re 400 words ahead of me! You’re going dooooown!” and the rest is history.)
I graduated with one degree and went on to get another big money earner: a MA in Writing for Young People. In Bath, England. It was epic. You can read all about those adventures in the tags.
And, of course, I’m still writing. And revising. And plotting. And writing some more. Whenever I miss a day, my skin feels all saggy and weird like the squishy part of a dog’s chin until I get back at it.
I love to write.
So that’s my story.
