My dad published his first novel when I was ten years old; I thought he was the coolest. When he read my siblings and me his creative, wonderful story, I saw a door of possibilities standing wide open. If my dad could write a book, then so could I.
My grandma, henceforth referred to as Nanny, used to tell me bedtime stories when she and my Grandpa were over for dinner. My siblings and I would be tucked into bed, and then she’d come upstairs and tell us a tale. Her stories were always magnificent. They brought every crevice of imagination to life. It was a blessing to grow up with my grandparents as next-door neighbors.
After my dad published The Little Sun, my ambition to write jolted to life. I ran over to Nanny’s house and asked her if she’d like to write a book with me. As I recall, I was very logical in my reasoning for why that would work. She was an amazing storyteller, I was a “pretty solid” English student, and if my dad could do it, then so could we.
I now know she only said yes to appease me. Neither she nor I truly believed our book would make it all the way to publication. I never thought our story about two sisters with magic running through their veins would ever leave her computer screen. It was a story meant just for us, and we went on quite the imaginative journey writing it.
But then the story got longer, the chapters grew stronger, my grammar improved, and suddenly, we had made an actual novel. We wrote too good a tale to keep it hidden from the world.
My dad, a two-time published novelist by the time we finished our first, edited our novel. My mom, a brilliant graphic designer, formatted our story into book form. I edited and edited and edited the crap out of that story, and then suddenly that “story” became a book. A real, live book that needed some cover art. I am no artist, but I did my best.
Aunt Sally’s Secret was mostly written by Nanny and me when I was ten and eleven years old, but it was officially published when I was fourteen. I wrote the sequel, Secrets, Lies, and Blurry Minds, on my own. Nanny told me I was on such a writing high that I needed to take my imagination and run with it. Of course, Nanny was the first to read and approve the sequel.
During my sophomore year of high school, I finished our children’s series and knew I wanted to keep writing. I did it all in secret, kept most of my successes off the radar of even my closest friends, because I was embarrassed. Now I realize it’s cool as can be: I wrote a book when I was ten.
Logic and reason sparked the theme of my latest series, further described in my last post, and my adventurous brain took it from there. Living in Silence and Will to Survive were both fully written before I graduated high school. The first is published, and the latter is being worked on by Written Dreams Publishing Company.
When I finished my series about high school turmoil and ghosts, it happened again: I knew I needed to keep writing, and during my freshman year of college, the idea for my next series hit so hard and so fast that I wrote nearly the entire first book in half a semester. I currently have that novel, its sequel, and another kid’s chapter book on what I like to call the back burner.
I have yet to decide which book to publish next: A children’s story to appease my audience of young dancers, or a young adult novel so heart-wrenching and graphic that it will keep my readers up at night. (Feel free to vote in the comments below!)
I love writing. I always have, and I always will. I want to share stories that help others escape from reality and feel a little less alone. I’ve been writing for that reason since I was ten years old.