I’m not like other authors. I wasn’t creating stories when I was little unless it was to get me out of trouble. Oh, and books? I hated them unless they were non-fiction and about animals. I wanted to be a Biologist back then, and was too busy learning valuable information to bother with fiction books. What use did I have of reading about things and places that weren’t real? I was too busy running around doing things to read something that didn’t give me information I could use in return (or so I thought at age 9).
I’m thankful now, but I felt doomed when my mother realized those fiction books were my perfect punishment. Regular punishments didn’t work on me, as I tended to entertain myself pretty easily or just go to sleep. Haha ;). I remembered that hour used to be the longest of my life, but after a while I grudgingly had to admit that I was beginning to like it. Those new and unreal worlds were interesting…. no, amazing! Paul Zindel, Christopher Paolini, Frank Peretti and so many others built the gateway to this book-loving life I live now.
And that’s where everything changed. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I found myself coming up with my own stories to compensate when I felt what I was reading left something to be desired. Skip to the present; I’m the author of my first novel (and the start of a 4-5 book series), working on the sequel and a couple other projects, and I now own around 300 books. Fiction books.
I don’t ever hear about these kinds of authors, who started on the other side of books and writing, but now you have. Haha, but while feeling towards books has changed, most of me still remains the same. I still tell stories to get out of trouble (they don’t buy it anymore and say I was never good at lying anyway -_-), and I’m still having a hard time sitting down to read or write as much as I want/need to because I love having an active regular life. I’m still trying to find that balance between a healthy writing life and a healthy regular life, but that’s a whole different post for another time.
For now I’ll just leave you staring at that lovely espresso up there and trying to figure out what all is written on that notebook.
You nosy little readers you. ;p