How I Started Writing

Hello again. So, I've been making a lot of lists lately and writing very few blog posts relating to anything other than music or books. Since I'm a novelist, I've been wanting to talk more about writingViolet Eyes. But before I start sharing little things about my books it might be fun to tell the story of how I started writing at all. If you're curious, please continue reading. I hope you enjoy hearing and this tale.

First off, I've always loved books, and I can't remember a time when I couldn't read. When I was in preschool, kids used to bring me stories they liked all the time because I could read out-loud to them. My personal favorites were Disney books (movie-to-book kind of stuff) and fairy tales with beautiful illustrations. Then, when I grew older and could practically recite most classic cartoon Disney movies  by heart, I started rearranging them in a notebook. These rewrites usually included a lot more fighting and adventure, and my much older self would probably blush at what I thought passed for descriptive writing. At the same time, I tried writing my first "novel" about a Pegasus that was turned into a real horse (a la Hercules) and had to find her way home. I was going to  call it The Black Stallion, though it was about a girl Pegasus, and I promise I'd never heard of the other book before. When my Aunt told me that name was already taken, I was crushed for a whopping five minutes. In hindsight I wish I'd kept the notebooks, but I never intended to be a writer, and little kids lose stuff. They're long gone now.

Then I discovered The Waltons: Season 1 when I was ten and was introduced to the idea of writing for a living. Oh John-Boy, then the fever took hold! Out came another notebook, and I wrote a ten page "novel" that I thought was going to be a best-seller someday. I laughed, I cried, I wanted to hug my own book and dance around the room. Then I let it rest for a few months because of Summer Vacation, and when I came back to it in the fall...I hated it. Yep. I'm ashamed to say I threw that one away because I was disgusted with my inability to write something good. After that, I pretty much decided that I wasn't meant to write anything and turned my focus to being a teacher instead.

But that didn't stop me from coming up with stories. I can distinctly remember standing at the stove once when I was thirteen and my mother waving her hand in front of my eyes. "Are you okay?" She asked. "You're not hearing a word I'm saying, are you?" I was too embarrassed to tell her that I was trying to come up with my own fan-version of Robin Hood, so I told her I didn't get much sleep the night before, which was true. I'd been up half the night daydreaming.

So a few years, a couple hundred daydreams, and a thousand devoured books later, I found myself sitting in my room because I was snowed in and couldn't safely walk down the driveway (let alone go anywhere). My brand new laptop was open in front of me, but I didn't really feel like playing any games. I wanted something new, something different (it was a cabin-fever kind of day).

Then, for some reason, I thought of my new acquaintance, Ashley, who was a writer and had been for a couple years by that time. When I met her, she asked me if I liked writing, and I (thinking she meant writing for school) said, "sure." Then she asked me what kind of writing I liked, and I immediately thought, ummm...essays? What else is there for someone like me? Therefore, I immediately clarified what I meant and promptly forgot all about it...until I got snowed in.

I hadn't even considered writing another story for eight years. But why not? I sat down and stared at a blank screen for a little while until I thought up a few characters, and then I just started writing. Honestly, I didn't even have a clear plot in my head, and I wasn't sure I could finish the story. I just wanted to see if my story telling abilities had improved at all. But I ended up sitting at my computer for four hours and feeling disgruntled when I had to leave it for dinner.

So...yeah...that was kind of the start of something beautiful. When I forced myself to take it slow and revel in the world I was building along with the characters, I found myself identifying with them. Writer's block was rarely an issue with the first drafts, and I often felt as if I was actually reading rather than creating anything. When I was done, I re-read the book and was surprised to find that I still liked it. Out of curiosity, I had my twelve-year-old brother try it, and he couldn't put it down. Once, when I asked him to do something chore related, he held up a finger and said, "can I have another minute? I'm almost done with this chapter." He finished within twenty-four hours and asked if he could read scenes from book two as I wrote them.

Siblings can be some of the most brutally honest creatures on the face of this planet, and when they tell you that they love something you've written you should feel pretty good about it. And if that wasn't enough for me, letting both my parents read the book was. I've heard that it's not a good idea to base your opinion of your writing skills on what your mother says, but my mother home-schooled me and was quite comfortable telling me when something I wrote could be improved. She and my Dad didn't try to convince me I was perfect. The manuscript still needed a lot of work, but they did encourage me to pursue publishing.

I guess what spurred me to write more was knowing that my books were giving others as much pleasure as they gave me. When I read Little Women, I don't hear Louisa May Alcott's voice. I hear Jo March's. And I hope that when people read Violet Eyes (or any subsequent books in The Last Abecedarian Series) they will hear Maia, Hugoh, Rike, Beor, Penelope, Lyddiah, and any other characters they've come to know and love.

And that's how I started writing. Writer's block isn't a stranger anymore, but it hasn't taken away the satisfaction of knowing that Violet Eyes is available for others to enjoy. Money is nice, and I hope to make this profitable someday. But as long as I know that my books bring wholesome pleasure to even a few people (the way other books brought joy to me), then the challenge of crafting a novel is already worthwhile. Copyright belongs to the author, but ideas and stories should belong to everyone.

Hopefully book two will join Violet Eyes soon — if writer's block will stop trying to make up for lost time.