and the word was inside me, begging to get out.
I remember writing my first song at age 4. My first book was written when I was 8. I used to get ridiculously frustrated when well-meaning adults asked me if I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I perfected the smiley delivery of this retort: "I'm *already* a writer!"
Strangely enough I wanted to be a doctor. (That never happened, by the way.)
For the last four years I've been blogging on an adult site. That has been quite illuminating and really, I can thank my readers for giving me the courage to try a novel again. I wrote my last novel when I was 15 mostly during geometry class (which explains why I wasn't able to maintain my 4.0). Whenever I've attempted a novel since then, I've never been able to find my stride. I wasn't tenacious. It just wasn't the right story or the right timing.
But this has been inside me, lying dormant for awhile, waiting for the moment of germination. I just didn't know the story until this summer. Now that I've gained momentum, it does feel a little like gestation. I'm two months in now and well on my way.
I have so much more to say...but I need to get back to it...