I tossed around the idea of writing my own stories in the early 1990s. Angela, my wonderful friend, bought me a very nice pen set to get me started. My ex-husband, Scott, offered me time on our ancient computer. This particular story involved a woman killing her husband. The irony wasn’t lost on Scott. He was, and still is, a pretty intelligent man. I wrote 100 pages. The computer ate it. Life got in the way and I didn’t get back to writing for 10 years. After my son was in school, I got a wild hair and felt an overwhelming urge to escape into my own head again. This story dealt with time travel and romance. It was going to be awesome. I finished 50 pages. The computer ate it. Life got in the way.
Are you seeing the trend here? So I went back to college to do something practical. After all, a girl’s gotta eat, right? You can’t buy wine if you don’t work. In 2008, I ended one career in the military and started on another. A milestone, sure, but none of this made me happy. None of this satisfied my need to escape. The years yawned ahead of me. My life was boring. I wanted more.
In the fall of 2011, I had foot surgery and was stuck on the couch for weeks. Bored out of my mind, I re-read my favorite books until it hit me. I could do this! I could write books. How hard could it be? And so it began...my journey to remake my life, to create a new destiny for myself, to escape the boredom.
As of today, I’ve written three books that I still get lost in. When I’m not writing every night, I miss my characters. I dream about them. I wake up with dialogue and plot ideas and rush to jot them down before the dreams fade. Am I nuts? Nah, I think not. Obsessed? Um, possibly...But I ask you this. Don’t you want the writer to be that passionate about the world they’re creating? I mean, really. I think it’s the key to everything.
Passion. It’s what drives humans to do what we do. Without it, the story of life is boring.