Origins

Thanks D L Hammond, Katie Mills, Alex J Cavanaugh, and Matthew MacNish for hosting this blogfest! Hop over and check out all the other writer origins :)

I am a wielder of words, a teller of tales, a deliverer of dialogue, and a painter of pictures. Be careful, for I will monopolize your mind with letters and punctuation, taking over your thoughts with images and emotions. That is my super power. You have been warned.

Memories of Writing

Sixth grade--Mr. Smiley (yep, that's really his name) our principal, shakes my hand and gives me a certificate for outstanding writing. My story was about a cat (big surprise) and it was good enough to get me up on the stage for the monthly writing award. 

Junior year High School--Mr. Kelley calls me back to his desk in Advanced Writing Composition, showing me my paper. A large red B looms at the top. My pulse zooms and my heart's pissed. I deserve better than a B. He tells me he will be grading me harder than the rest of the class because I'm capable of writing better than what is expected. His back-handed compliment did the trick. I tried harder. But now I realize he probably pulled everyone back to his desk throughout the semester, feeding them the same line. Touche Mr. Kelley, touche!

Freshman year UW--My Creative Writing TA (for those of you who didn't go to a giant school, you have a lecture once or twice a week from a professor and a smaller-group session headed by a TA two or three days a week with whom you learn more from than the actual professor) tells me almost the same thing as my high school English teacher. I need to push myself and spend more than fifteen minutes writing to the weekly prompts, then I can 'earn' the 4.0 I'm getting.

2004--I have been a stay-at-home mom for sixth months now. My days full of smiles, dirty diapers, the rocking chair, giggles, HGTV, board books, bottles, cooes, wet wipes,  kisses (millions of kisses), excessive cleaning, burping, sleeping, you get the picture. My brain was starving for a higher level of stimulation. As soon as my husband walks through the door every evening, I hand him darling baby boy and plug into my computer for hours of MS Word therapy. What was born from that much needed neural activity now resides in a box in my attic. 

2009--With the shelving of my first experience of 'really' writing, I don't expect to ever sit down and attempt it again. But after my husband and I go out to sushi with the Chambers and see Fast and Furious, a vivid dream sends me back to the computer for another round. Long-time friends, raw fish, and Paul Walker are the origin of my current WiP--My Protector.                                                                                     
                                                                                                
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