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| This is on my newest coffee cup. |
I was born, yonder, in the house of my Faddah. Wait,
wrong origins. Sorry, I was channeling Tony Curtis’ character Myles, in The
Black Shield of Falworth.
Still, it’s not too far removed from my origins as a
storyteller. My father was a fabulous storyteller, as many Celtics can be. He
would have made an excellent warrior bard. He entertained his children and wife
with stories on many an evening. Hot summer nights we’d sit outside and do
round robin stories with each of us taking turns. The story might have started
as a dream Dad had, or something he saw from his travels, and he’d embellish it
with details. Dad told his stories in installments. While Dad worked he’s be
thinking up the next installment for us. We loved it.
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. As kids, my
brothers and I would also make up stories to act out in—‘let’s pretend’. We
took turns making up adventures to play pretend and they, too, lasted days. A
living adventure series. We couldn’t wait to get outside for the next
adventure—which worked great for mama because we had to do our chores before we
were free to play. Ah, waiting was agony for us!
My parents encouraged the free reign of imagination.
There were many times Dad and Mom would get rid of the TV set, entirely—not
a TV to be found at our house. Instead we were encourage to listen to or play
music and we had tons of books to read, we are all good artists and crafters,
great singers, and good conversationalists. And, we all can tell stories. J
As long as I can remember, I’ve told stories. My mom
still has some drawing from when I was 4 and 5—think comic book style—of
stories I made up. Then came Barbies and more stories, only Barbie was rarely
allowed to be a princess, mostly, she and the GI Joes (Gads, do you remember
how wimpy looking Ken was?), were taking part in some kick ass adventure
of discovery and danger.
I don’t think I consciously thought of writing as a
career, but I did win contests as a kid for poetry and stories I did and some
were even published. Any project I had in school had as much time spent on the
creative words as the nuts and bolts of the project. I had teachers who
encouraged me to develop my skills, but painting pictures with words was as
natural as breathing for me. I figured everyone could do it and why were they
making such big deal about it—until I got older.
College was the first time I actually considered writing.
That was about the time I was taking some clinical psych courses that involved
detailed journal entries of children and adults I dealt with. I always got A’s
on that, not only for the applied technical content but also for telling a
compelling story on each of my clients. Always, there had to be a story at the
heart. My professors would always add on the comment page that I should really
consider writing because I could paint pictures with words. About that time I
was also working part-time with radio and newspapers writing up articles and in
radio doing the scripts for commercials. Every job I’ve had used my writing
skills. It’s something I’m good at.
I have various notebooks filled with stories and several
complete novels written. They were fun to write—it was always something I did
on the side and it fed my creative side just as much as music and art do.
Frankly, my life was so full I simply didn’t have time to pursue publication
for fiction. I had a demanding high power job that consumed most of my time and
utilized much of my creativity. I hardly had any inspiration left over,
although I still wrote fiction.
I moved from the San Francisco area, settled in Missouri,
to be near my family. I left behind the corporate world for a different sort of life. Fulfilling dreams of being a mom and ranching, raising hay, vegetables, creating flower gardens, horses and
Great Danes. My life is still full, fulfilling, but in a different way.
Much of my storytelling was channeled towards my son, but still...I found myself thinking
much more about my writing. There are a
lot of stories out here beyond the back forty.
Friends and a few family members who had read my stories
urged (okay, browbeat) me to move forward with it. Finally, I decided to
enter one of my stories in a contest a few years ago (2007). I placed at the
top 25%. I decided to query them. Got some positive feedback and joined a
writing group which I’m still part of. All this showed me just how much I didn’t
know about this business of writing. For me, that was unacceptable. The need to
know has always a driving force for me. Knowledge of a path always gives me
confidence to continue to walk it and if I get knocked down, the ability to
dust off the dirt of the pratfall, stick a bandage on the boo-boos and move on.
I’ve spent the last few years learning about my craft.
I’ve read and reviewed books to learn current market expectations, did judging
gigs, experiment with various promotion platforms, and gained name recognition.
In 2009 I created my blog. For me, it’s never been a race for followers
(although I love them) but sharing other writers’ journeys, what they’ve faced
and overcome. What they’re still overcoming despite their successes.
What’s next? That’s still work in progress and is still
evolving. Definitely more writing, and the editing what I’ve already written
and more querying.
From the house of my father to who I am today has been a
living story. I’ve enjoyed it all.
