Most authors felt a calling. So many people will tell you they always wanted to write a book. Yep, I’m not one of them. I also wasn’t the child who always had a story ready. Sure, I had an active imagination, but it was always framed as a question. Usually, the same question over and over: “What if…?”
I asked questions that other people couldn’t understand, let alone answer. It boiled inside me, most often manifesting as little more than typical childhood rebellion.
Until it wasn’t. Somewhere along the way, I learned to play the game, to fit in, to be exactly what everyone said I should be. I gave up the daydreams and settled down for the reality of life, thinking of little more than paychecks and mortgages. I stopped reading, drawing, dancing, and making music. Society said it was time to be responsible, and that meant giving up the arts. Until once again, I dared to ask, “What if?”
It all came rushing back to me with the force of teen emotions and shelves flooded with paperback friends. I had a story brewing and it was based on that one simple question. I started writing because no one was telling my story. The heroes were always too good, too perfect, too implausible. That doesn’t mean they can’t be good people, but I wanted to see something different. Now I can’t stop. From strong women to kind men, humans to aliens, I enjoy pushing the stereotypes and looking at what lies under the surface of a good story.