Why did I decide to write? I’m sure that just as many authors ponder this question as know the answer. Some started because they knew that was their calling. What they were meant to do. Others still came to writing in a more round about way stumbling into the business of writing.
My journey into writing began with a bang, fizzled out, got side tracked by what is commonly known as “life,” and ended up at a point on the map not previously plotted.
At the ripe old age of 14, I discovered my first romance novel and was hooked. Unbeknownst to my parents, I began devouring “trashy” romance novels and loved every minute of it. Reading filled every spare minute of life, between softball practices and games, after graduation, between studying for college tests and finally those rare moments of rest during my journey through my graduate degree.
The bug “bit” in high school, I began writing poetry and in journals, finally beginning my very own historical romance novel. Thank goodness all that was lost and hopefully destroyed. The thought of anyone reading those first attempts at writing would only bring embarrassment today, as I grow and learn as a writer.
It truly is a business. It takes dedication. Hard work and the never ending zest for learning. What beginner knows the difference between showing and telling? Or even head hopping? Not this girl right here that was for sure.
It took lots of reading, online writing courses and the encouragement of fellow writers with far more experience. It takes brain power when your out of energy. Time when you don’t have any. And a will power unbending to the temptation of TV, temper tantrum riddled toddlers and just plain old sleep.
What keeps you writing through this battle with everyday life? I can’t answer that question for anyone else, but for myself it is an innate existence within my soul. A beast that needs to be fed. It is the desire to write. To be an author. To give the ability for your readers to escape everyday life.