A dream. A thought. A story.

I began writing because I was full of ideas and once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. It was like my imagination had taken on a life of it’s own and demanded to be expressed. Whether I spoke or drew or wrote, it would not be denied. As anyone could tell you this particular struggle began when I was very young. My stories were wild and inventive, capturing the attention of my fellow classmates.

Now since this was before I developed my deep love of the written word, I did what I was good at–I talked. The trees became towers, the fish grew wings, and trolls were going to come marching in to take over the school at any minute. Needless to say, my antics although entertaining, were not well received. The solution of course was to introduce me to one of the most magical places I had ever been: the school library. Here was a gateway to any journey I could ever dream of taking.

I devoured story after story often venturing down previously traveled paths to revisit old friends. But something strange happened, they stopped being enough. My own thoughts wanted the tales to end differently wanted them bolder. I burned with a need to give life to the dreams that threatened to take over my waking world. So, I wrote them down. A passing fancy became a poem, a dream–a short story, a thought–a novel. The words on the pages held so much more life than the ones I spoke. I became fascinated with how they melded together in infinitely varying ways to create new concepts and unique perspectives. And thus a writer was born. This is my adventure and I invite you to share it with me. Welcome to the dream.

2 thoughts on “A dream. A thought. A story.”

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