Last week, I sold my third novel, “Dreaming of a Kiss”. It feels like this should be a time when I reflect on my life as a writer and what that means.
I’m not sure I know the answers. My life as a writer is part of everything I do. If I’m sitting at a traffic light, I look at the guy next to me and I wonder why his face is all scrunched up like that. Is he so mad he could kill someone, or did he forget to stop at the little boy’s room and he’s been on the road for hours?
Writing is the way I live my life. It’s part of everything I do. It’s never far from my thoughts. Having readers who share my passion is the greatest reward of struggling with words and wrestling them to the page.
My passion for writing started in third grade when our teacher, as part of Social Studies, showed us the movie “The Diary of Anne Frank”. I went home that day and pestered my mother to go to Woolworth’s (a dollar store back then) and buy me a notebook. It was a spiral notebook, with a green cover and the pages inside were the lightest shade of green. My first journal entry began with “Dear Kitty”. I’ve never stopped. I’ve never looked back. I’ve never had any regrets.
What got you started on the path of writing? If you haven’t started on the path yet, and you want to, what’s stopping you? 
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