When I was a little girl, my best friend was named Elizabeth. We spent every spare minute together, lived our summers in our bathing suits out by the pool, listened to music together, and dreamed about what we’d do when we were grown ups. Her parents had a game room with one entire wall lined with bookshelves. I thought the room was the greatest room in the entire world. All of those books sitting on the shelves, so many of them!
There was one medical book where it asked you questions and depending on your answers, it would take you to another page, until the book “diagnosed” your symptoms. Elizabeth was fascinated by that book. She’s now a doctor.
Me, I was more fascinated by the books and the stories themselves. I remember one summer we decided to write our own books. We took two pieces of cardboard, glued some wrapping paper on the outside of the pieces to make the covers, stuck some blank pieces of paper in between and declared ourselves authors. I filled my pages with some story I don’t even remember. But I do know that my mother kept the little book as one of her momentoes of my childhood.
My fascination with the written word and the stories that seem to grow in the very air around me continues to this day.
I am a writer.
It’s a blind, obessive need that fills me with absolute joy when I find time to sit in front of the computer as I’m doing right now and put words on paper. So, with that thought in mind, I plan on using this forum to tell some stories. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am. That’s what I love.
I am a writer.