My writing life

For years I have harbored a secret identity as a writer. Many years ago I took writing classes, joined a writing group, pecked away at various short stories and poems. Then I dropped it and pursued other interests, but the itch remained, occasionally barking to remind me of its presence. Gradually I began to listen, to scratch, and after several years a novel was born. Still kept in the dark, in secret, lest someone should find out and tell me I couldn’t possibly succeed. But slowly I began to trust others with my dreams. I participated in NaNoWriMo and put 50,000 words in a single document. I revised, scribbled, shelved and got on with other things. But still the story remained.

Over the last year or so, I’ve gotten braver and bolder (or maybe just less self-conscience). I’ve dipped my toe back into the writers’ water and found that I enjoyed the sensation (mostly). I took more writing classes and signed up for my first conference. I was at least knee-deep. I went to the conference armed with business cards calling myself a writer. I pitched (unsuccessfully) to an agent. I’m up to my neck now. But I can still touch the bottom of the pool. I still feel safe (mostly). This website is my public proclamation that I am swimming in the pool of people trying to create stories, to share their view of the world with others, to build worlds and people to inhabit them, and to leave a little piece of themselves behind.

Join me. Be kind. Send encouragement or a lifebuoy. Write on…..