This question has been asked many times in writers groups and my answer is always the same: I have a story inside that needs to be told.
For as long as I can remember, I said I would be an author. Every book report ever written or presented in school asked why I selected the book I did. My answer was always the same. “I selected this book because I will write one like it someday.”
I would see things in everyday life and make up stories to explain them. I’d give people names and personalities. They would have conversations. (A stroll down the Vegas Strip is full of inspiration.) My brain and my notebooks are filled with scenes, stories, and characters.
As with many people, life got in the way of this childhood dream. There was a spouse, a child, a mortgage, and a string of energy-sapping jobs.
That spouse discouraged me so I got rid of him. The child and jobs did not leave much time for anything else. A new spouse entered the picture – one who encouraged my creativity and my silliness. Eventually, the child grew up, moved to New York, and became a writer. Still, I wasn’t writing. I can do that any time, right?
Two years ago today everything changed. I suffered a heart attack and had emergency heart surgery - either of which could have easily ended my life. It took almost a year to for me to finally understand how fortunate I am to be granted this additional time. It’s a gift many people don’t receive. I owe it to myself to fulfill the promises that schoolgirl made 30 years ago.
And THAT is why I write.
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