I have loved stories all my life. Listening to them, reading them, telling them. And writing them. I was a voracious reader and still would be, if writing didn’t limit my reading time.
Writing, for me, is the ultimate indulgence. I construct a world, make rules for its inhabitants, and throw thunderbolts at my characters. Wow, that last sentence makes me realize that maybe I have a God complex. But then, if I do, so does every other writer, published or unpublished.
I used to write only in times of dire stress. The process of putting words on the page and making order of my thoughts and feelings helped me through many situations that may have, otherwise, turned out badly. Luckily, life is more settled these days and my writing is more a creative outlet than a valve to let off steam. And I have a whole lot more fun telling the stories of the characters who show up, wanting to share their lives.
Which is not to say it’s all joy and light, as any writer would tell you. Sometimes just the right word is elusive. Sometimes the characters steal the story and I have to work really hard to make everything fit neatly together. Sometimes the business side of writing brings heartache. But through it all, there is one constant. There are more stories to tell.
Like most people, I can reel off a list of books that changed the course of my belief system. I wish I could personally thank those authors. I am grateful that in constructing my tales, I have learned more about myself. It is my hope that in my books and short works, I can “give back” a little of those gifts and help someone gain insight into their past, present and future.
I’m proud to announce that all three of my completed novels have either made the finals or won the contests I’ve entered in the past year.
Thank you for reading my words.