I am a writer. An unconscious decision, writing is just something I do.
In the third grade, my first attempt at writing a book backfired. A fellow classmate ripped my scribbled Laura Ingalls Wilder’s plagiarized attempt out of my hands. The mocking ensued. Miss Bliss rescued my writings and offered encouragement, but I learned my lesson. This dream was an underground one.
My writing starts and stops by life inspirations. I flirt with possible success but succumb to the seduction of a sensible life. Now mind you, I wanted more than to be published. I wanted the fame and fortune I supposed came along with it. This of course has changed.
I had two poems published in vanity presses in high school. The next published works came in ’93, ’03, and ’11. I joined writing groups and wrote short stories, and flash pieces. Learning how to submit my writing, soon I had to deal with rejection letters. I interned for a music website, where I interviewed bands and reviewed their shows. In August, I published my first book, “Religion of Trees”. This accomplishment happened when I shut down all outside voices and wrote for little ole me.
Any readers old enough to remember real thermometers? The ones with mercury in them? I was warned never to touch it. As an always curious and defiant kid, this made me want to. The mercury scooched away from my finger. Which of course made me try harder.
The act of writing is mercurial. Every time I get in the sweet writing zone, detractors start calling for my attention. Sometimes I need the reminder to shut up the internal voices and write. The only fact I need to recognize is writing is my dream.
I invite you to follow me on Goodreads. There will be a book giveaways soon.