Ever since I read a short story my elder sister wrote when I was a pre-teen, I wanted to write stories. Then I began reading mystery books for young adults and wanted to write even more. There was just one problem. I didn’t know how to go about doing that. At the time I didn’t understand there was a process or a particular structure in regards to writing a story let alone writing a book. After all, I was only 10.
In high school in one of my English classes, we were assigned to write a short story. Now, I don’t remember what the lesson was surrounding this assignment or if the teacher taught us an in depth lesson on how to write one, but I wrote one. My mom praised it and thought the world of it. I, however, was more critical of it. I felt there was more I needed to know. As I recall, I could have done more with my characters and added more conflict and/or suspense. I don’t remember what grade I received for the story, but I know it was a passing grade. I wouldn’t get back to writing creatively until my late 20’s.
During my hiatus the yearning to write a book was ever present in my mind. So between raising kids and a family, I read how to books on writing fiction. I tried to set pen to paper and start a but it fizzled out. The time wasn’t right. I had three kids (boys) and a husband, so that’s where my mind was at. My husband was in the Army, and, at one point, he was deployed to Saudi Arabia for Desert Shield/Desert Storm. His safety and the care of my three boys was first on my mind. At that time I still wanted to write a book, but I lacked the materials and opportunity to do so. That was ok. I was young and had plenty of time for writing later. In the meantime I lived life. Little did I know, it was only the beginning.
Ohhh the stories I could tell from that point onward…..
