So much has happened with my new found love of writing over the last two years, that I figured I should have a place to put all the wandering thoughts in my head. (And, hey, it's writing.)
In the summer of 2008, I was sick of reality. Not much I could do about the points of reality that were really getting to me, so I needed an escape. After quickly ruling out chemically induced states of alleviating my mental anguish, I took my healthy liver to the book store and got into some novels that carried my mind off to other places.
Funny how reading about the catastrophies of protagonists makes you feel better about your own life, and yet you wish you were them. Hmmm.
After going through a novel a day, I realized that, as much as I loved reading and wouldn't stop, I wanted more. The type A side of my personality screamed to reach out it's claws on the world of fiction and dig in deep; to take control over the creative worlds in my own imagination and make them come alive. The first scene I ever wrote was full of grammatical errors, sentence structure faux pas, ugly pacing... and was the biggest high I'd gotten since successfullly getting away with blaming something on my little brother when I was ten.
So here I am, two years later. After countless hours on a keyboard, creative writing courses at the college, books on grammar, several spiral notebooks of chicken scratch notes, a full manuscript evaluation by a fabulous editor, total re-write, and then finally a copy edit by same fabulous editor, I have the manuscript I dreamed of having when I started the project, only better.