When I was a freshman in High School, I had the most amazing Creative Writing teacher. He was a tough teacher, certainly not one to give false praise. I remember the very first day of class…my best friend was sitting beside me. She leaned over and whispered “this class is going to be intense…I thought it was going to be an easy A.” Easy was the last word I would have used for this class. Our teacher pushed us out of our comfort zone and demanded we try new things. The day he told us we had to write a poem, I nearly got ill. A poem…I had no interest and no experience in writing poetry…
I grew up in central state New York, and it was around early November. I remember lying in bed that night dreading my assignment. I had no clue what to write. I lay there silently staring holes in the ceiling. Then I noticed a sound in the silence. It started softly like the muffled rumble of an old car. I closed my eyes and just listened as the sound slowly increased in volume. I got out of bed, walked to my window, and looked out into the night, dimly lit by the single street light. Looking out into the distance, I saw it…a light snow had started to fall. I was mesmerized by the flakes as they grew heavier, larger, and faster. I must have sat there for an hour watching the dead brown grass become enveloped by the pristine, crystal white blanket.
The next morning we had a snow day from school. As the fresh covering grew to over two feet, I sat on my bed and wrote my first poem. I was ecstatic when it received an A+.
My Dad loved it so much that he taped it up on the wall of his office. My poem was still on his wall, yellowed and worn the day I left for college. Funny the moments you can recall years ago, but the things you can’t remember that happened to you just the day before.
I continued to write all through my high school and college years. I wanted to major in writing, but my dad was always very ‘practical’ and insisted I major in something I could ‘work in,’ so I majored in business. I worked in banking, personnel, management, and managed my husband’s forensic engineering firm. When my husband decided to close his business, I was lost. What would I do? He suggested I do what I’ve always wanted to do…and write.
Six years ago, I began writing full-time and one year ago Chasing Victory was published. How lucky am I to love what I do and have people enjoy the stories I write.
Can you recall a turning point in your life when you had to make the decision which path you would take? I would love to hear about it…