First and foremost

The first post in a blog is intimidating.  Everyone is waiting to see whether you are witty, brilliant, stupid, droll, or simply magnificent.  Although I have read posts that fit into each of these categories, I hope that this blog can fall somewhere between both the witty and magnificent, while at the same time creating a running account of how I have gone about writing, editing, and publishing my books.  This task seems daunting, while at the same time creating a challenge that will keep me on my toes, or at the very least, sitting in front of my computer and hoping that something inspired comes out when I place my hands on the keyboard.  I imagine it’s the same feeling a musician gets when he sits at the piano and stares at the keys, wondering when they are going to sing the music that stirs in his soul.

The goal of this post today is to say what started me writing, a simple, but incredible journey that keeps me searching for scraps of paper on which to write the next story idea that pops into my head before it is lost in the torrent of thoughts constantly swirling through my mind.  If ever the day comes when I catch up on all of my stories and I need something to write, I have a plethora of ideas on random receipts, sticky notes, and  the occasional yellow pad of paper just waiting to be written.

I used to read anything I could get my hands on, something that led me to amazing books like ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’, ‘White Fang’, ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’, ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Crown Duel’, ‘The Name of the Wind’, ‘Shane’, and so many other books I lost track long ago.  Because of this, my mom (with amazing mother’s intuition) signed my brother and I up for a writing class in middle school.  I went to the class kicking and screaming, and  came home full of stories to write.

My first completed story was a western that ended on a very sad note and left me heartbroken that such a thing could happen to the characters I had come to love.  When members of my family asked why I just didn’t write it differently, I tried to explain how the story went where it had to go, and thus began my realization that stories would go in the direction they needed to whether I liked it or not, and truly great characters wouldn’t give me as much freedom to mingle in their lives as I had once thought.  Since that time, I constantly worked on stories in my head, continuing where I left off during car rides or daydreaming at school (What? That never happened….)  I began to see that everyone was the hero of their own story, it was just the perspective of writer that decided who became the good guy or bad guy.  I wanted to write stories about real people in fantastic settings, but with real dreams, hopes, fears, and goals for their future.

My own biggest hope is that these stories can touch lives the way that so many did for me, carrying me when I needed my own escape.  Perhaps, somehow the stories I write can give others the same escape, the ability to live a thousand lives within their one, and the chance to be the hero (or the villain) as they choose.