The Genesis of a Writer

I’m not sure there was one moment in my life when I realized I would be a writer. I think it was close to a destiny I always knew. Stories were important to me from the beginning. I loved the picture books my mother read to me. In kindergarten, our class made a book of pictures by each pupil; accompanying the drawings were short piece of writing we had dictated to the teacher. I acted out fairytales for family members and friends, like “The Three Bears” and “Cinderella.”

In first and second grade, we wrote stories and illustrated them on big-ruled sheets of paper. Our teachers gave us really creative prompts, and I think I got into more detail than the other kids, careful to include a logical beginning. In second grade I stayed in recesses to make my first picture book.

I was teased a lot by my schoolmates, and it cut me deeply. My family was unsympathetic to my complaints about it. I told myself that when I grew up I would be a famous artist and writer. Then those who had hated me would read about me in the newspapers and be sorry. I would show them I was better than a misfit crybaby, and better than all of them.

In third grade, I used to go visit my second grade teacher. I told her I was going to be an author. She pinched my cheeks and said, “Write children’s books.”

Sorry, Mrs. Palermo. My interests are broader, and I don’t pander to your expectations. I write what inspiration leads me to, not what one set age group dictates.

When I was still a child, it would take me hours to get to sleep, so I would make up novels in my head. Now I find that I can’t carry whole scenes in my memory for long without writing them down.

Although I still do a little art for my own pleasure, most of my art is to help me picture the characters in my stories or to design possible covers for the books. The “famous artist” part of my ambition has pretty much fallen by the wayside, leaving me more time to write. I’m driven to imagine, get it into words, and share it with others. Fame is slow to come by and not a need anymore. I’m famous to God. But I would like to produce published books. And I want to make a living on my writing!

I get the impression that most people think writing like mine is play and that I should spend my time doing more “important” things. Writing is enjoyable for me, but it also requires a lot of time and effort. Most of the markets out there pay nothing, and another large percentage pay a only a handful of dollars, I suppose for the purpose of saying you’re “paid.” Some writers make their living writing articles, but the really creative stuff doesn’t provide a living except to the rare superstar author. What are our values?

I write because I love stories. I write because the Lord I love is the Word. God made me in His image. And He is the Creator. So I am a creator, too.

(Sorry if a bit of this is the same as my author information. I wrote this entry to a Writer's Digest website prompt while in my writers' salon group. The information was all new to my friends there.)