The writing life is very peculiar. Maybe you have to be crazy to do it. I don't remember when I first thought that I would like to write a book one day, but I know I was very young. As an elementary school kid I was always making up plays and putting them on. But I didn't really like to star in them. I was too shy. Maybe that's why I always liked to write. I was too timid to say anything in front of people, but I could write it. Then in high school I became a closet writer and wrote a lot of poetry that I kept to myself. All that adolescent turmoil bubbled up and out onto the page. It was a great vent and again I didn't have to say a thing. Then came college and I took a creative writing class that I almost flunked. I just couldn't agree with the teacher. I don't think there was anything creative about what she was teaching. Then I did what girls did back then when they graduated from college. I got married. I recall thinking I would write a book once I got used to this working and housekeeping thing. Then came the babies, so I would write a book after they were out of diapers, after they went to school, after I didn't have to run carpool anymore, after, after, after, after. One morning I woke up on my birthday (and it was a birthday that really got my attention) and thought to myself that I had about let time run out. So I went out and bought my first computer, brought it home, set it up, and sat in front of it. To my horror I realized I had nothing to say. It was a while before I hooked onto a story. I wrote every night from 9:00 pm until 1:00 am when everyone had gone to bed but me. Weekends were tough because the kids were all in sports. But, I managed to spit out a 100,000 word story in about 3 months. I guess I did it so quickly because I didn't know what I was doing. And I have to say, the story was awful. I still have it in a box high on a shelf. I never want anyone to read it, but can't seem to part with it. I wonder what that's all about. I look at my writing schedule now and it doesn't make sense how long it takes for a book to come out of me. Kids are grown and gone, I know more about what I'm doing, I have a great co-writer, and I only work part time. Now, finishing one book a year is tough. Go figure.