Growing up, I was always writing. I often wrote in a journal my mom bought me when I was seven (I still have that journal – it has a nice black and white photo of a cat on the cover). I wrote anything and everything: thoughts in general, stories, you name it.
I wrote my first complete short story when I was about ten. It was called “The Cat Who Lost Her Kitten” and was, predictably, about a cat who lost her kitten. I made my parents read it and they told me they loved it. Around this time, I started writing elaborate adventure stories featuring animals, which isn’t at all surprising since I loved animals growing up.
I started on my current novel (the one I put photos on Pinterest for) in 2006 or so. It has undergone many, many changes since then, so much so that it really is not the same novel it started out as. In 2008, I started another novel (it’s a spy thriller and will be amazing) that I also hope to finish one day.
I used to assume that everyone wrote stories like I did, but I have recently found my assumption to be untrue. My friend B. (that same friend I said goodbye to yesterday) is an excellent nonfiction writer, but she never wrote fiction for fun growing up (and she doesn’t for school either, since she would never voluntarily take a fiction writing class).
I like writing. Writing is fun and someday, I am going to publish that novel of mine.
(By the way, even though there is a fountain pen in that photo, I don’t write with fountain pens. I’m left-handed and left-handed people can’t write with regular fountain pens because we push our pens across the paper when we write, whereas right-handed people do not. Just thought I’d share.)