In typical #ThrowbackThursday fashion, I want to talk about the moment when I first discovered I wanted to become a writer. It all started after I had read the children’s book, “Haunted Sister” by Lael Litke when I was about nine years old. The book entranced me with this opening sentence, “It was raining on the day I died.” The funny thing is, I haven’t read that book in thirteen years and I still remember that line as if I had just laid eyes on the text this morning.
I must have read that book a dozen times during my childhood. Never before had I’d been so entranced by a simple sentence. Up until then, books were mandatory – they were used for lessons and bedtime stories. Books weren’t transformative. Books weren’t compelling.
And then, my eyes laid focus on that simple sentence and everything in my life since then has been changed. It was from that moment, as I could feel the yellowed pages rubbing between my fingertips, that I discovered the magic of an artist’s words. I was lost inside an imaginative world where characters wholly existed, cradling me until I fell asleep, teasing me to turn the next page when my eyelids could barely contain them.
Suddenly, I knew that this was the impact I was destined to have on the world.
A Life-Long Interest
I had always had an interest in the written word. I would scribble plot lines or funny sentences etched into my notebook. Cohesively, those words would add up to my very first story just a few short years later about a young girl who lost her fiance in the aftermath of 9/11.
It’s been thirteen years since the fateful day when I read that sentence. I remember like it was yesterday. Sitting passenger seat in my father’s Chevy – the engine purring, the car seat flaming up as the heater vents attacked the cold leather – and me, book in hand ready to dive into a parallel universe. In those years, as my style has changed, and my experiences have broadened, my love for creating stories has never wavered. It’s a love that’s as classic as a tale as old as time; it’s my backbone, my identity, my existence.
Whether’s it’s been documenting my travels to foreign cities such as Boston, Portland, or Old Key West, Florida or giving insight to my favorite play – or favorite painting – writing has provided me an outlet unlike any hobby I’ve had (and I’ve had quite a few).
This blog is an opportunity to share my life with you, however, that may be described. Tales are derived from experiences – all sorts of experiences – and here, we take the good, the bad and the utterly imaginative and put them into words. Stories start here – and I’m honored you want to be along for the ride.