THE AUTHOR
I guess you could say that I was intimidated into writing. I'll explain.
When I was a teenager, I loved to draw. One evening, at a high school basketball game, I sat down next to a friend's sister and began drawing. It wasn't long before she started to ask me what the picture was about. I told her it was nothing, just a dumb picture. She wouldn't take that for an answer and insisted I tell her the whole "story." She being older and bigger than me, I quickly made up a story and thought that would be the end of it. It was not. She then told me to write it down. I shined her on with a nod and an, "okay," but I had no intention of doing so.
A month later she was visiting again and asked to see my story. That's when panic set in. I told her I hadn't finished it. She told me that the next time she came to visit, I had better have it for her. I quickly bought a ream of typing paper and began writing. Four years and four-hundred and fifty typed pages later, the story was still not completed. But I was smitten. I began writing short stories for my eyes only. Then one day when passing by the bulletin board in the dorm, I noticed an ad for a movie. I was dumbfounded. Two years earlier I had written a short story about that very thing. The movie, Airport '77. That is when I realized if someone else had the same idea, then maybe my ideas/stories weren't so dumb. After that, I began taking my writing more seriously.
In all of my stories, family and how they relate to each other play a key role. I used to tease my mother that one day I would write a soap opera about our family. She used to laugh but there was part of me that was serious. After she died when I was eighteen, my writing became more of a therapy. Helping me understand why people do the things they do by analyzing each character's motives.
When I was a teenager, I loved to draw. One evening, at a high school basketball game, I sat down next to a friend's sister and began drawing. It wasn't long before she started to ask me what the picture was about. I told her it was nothing, just a dumb picture. She wouldn't take that for an answer and insisted I tell her the whole "story." She being older and bigger than me, I quickly made up a story and thought that would be the end of it. It was not. She then told me to write it down. I shined her on with a nod and an, "okay," but I had no intention of doing so.
A month later she was visiting again and asked to see my story. That's when panic set in. I told her I hadn't finished it. She told me that the next time she came to visit, I had better have it for her. I quickly bought a ream of typing paper and began writing. Four years and four-hundred and fifty typed pages later, the story was still not completed. But I was smitten. I began writing short stories for my eyes only. Then one day when passing by the bulletin board in the dorm, I noticed an ad for a movie. I was dumbfounded. Two years earlier I had written a short story about that very thing. The movie, Airport '77. That is when I realized if someone else had the same idea, then maybe my ideas/stories weren't so dumb. After that, I began taking my writing more seriously.
In all of my stories, family and how they relate to each other play a key role. I used to tease my mother that one day I would write a soap opera about our family. She used to laugh but there was part of me that was serious. After she died when I was eighteen, my writing became more of a therapy. Helping me understand why people do the things they do by analyzing each character's motives.
