Quite unexpectedly, I find myself a writer.
Okay, that’s just me being self-deprecating. I’ve always loved to write. Have since the 2nd grade. In 3rd grade, my teacher made me read a story I wrote aloud to the entire school. I think the next time I showed one of my stories to anyone was at the end of my senior year in highschool.
Imagination– it can get you into a lot of trouble when you’re a kid.
In college, I took a lot of writing courses. It sounds cliche, but there was one professor who changed my life. He said I had talent; big praise from a man who made half his students burst into tears. Still, I had my sights set on law school and, thanks to wicked LSAT scores and a pretty good personal essay, I ended up at one of the best institutions in the country.
A year and a half later, I dropped out.
So I move to Texas, buy a dog and a truck. I find a website that lets regular people post their own stories– the types of stories I love to read– and I lurk for a few months. Somewhere in between getting used to the truly spectacular heat and trying to teach the dog to sit, I manage to very quietly post the first installment of a story of my own. People loved it.
Shocked the hell out of me.
And now I'm a writer. Wow, it feels good to say that. I have so many stories planned: characters I love, plots that intrigue me. I’m typing out more words than I thought existed inside me. There are ups and there are downs, there are blocks of un-inspiration that make me question whether I have any talent at all, and there are moments of pure radiance that make everything worthwhile. It’s an adventure, and always a surprise. Which is probably why I started this little ‘about me’ page the way I did.
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