Inside the Mind of a Writer

Since  I was a kid, I’ve had stories in my head. I realize that makes me sound a bit like a crazy person. The jury is still out on that one.

My poor Barbies took the brunt of it. Most Barbie dolls probably went to prom or married Ken and had a bunch of little babies. Maybe they were princesses or models. My entire bedroom used to become a world for them to live in, explore and ultimately act out the intricate, dramatic and gut-wrenching stories in my head.

We should all take a moment of silence for my Barbie dolls.

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Then came my teen years. Bands like The Cure, Depeche Mode fueled my angst-ridden soul. I shudder to think of the poetry and short stories I wrote back then. Let’s just say they were beyond dramatic and move on.

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Moving into early adulthood, I stopped writing. I’m not sure why really. It’s not that they weren’t there – the stories – I just didn’t know what to do with them. I was more focused on trying to get into design school in Southern California and I won’t lie, I was living out my little Baywatch fantasies of living on the beach and being all tan and blond…trust me, I’m dying to laugh at myself over it.

Someone introduced me to the Sims. Yep. The Sims. And the stories came back. I played out story after story – and finally sought out other players who also played out stories and shared them. Laugh if you will, it got me writing again. It got all those creative juices flowing: character creating, background setting, world building and piecing things together to create a cohesive story.

It was those people who convinced me (finally) that I was a good writer.

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So here we are today. I have so many characters and stories in my head. I have the outlines of probably enough books to last me a couple of years! Some may get started and put on hold, some may never see the light of day. Sometimes a story will come to me so fast and hard, that I can think of nothing else until it’s done.

Case in point? I was busy writing a follow-up to The Island so I could expand on Michael’s story. Michael is my baby, and I was dying to write about him more since he is less explored in The Island than Gabe is. Then suddenly in bed, after a conversation with my mother, the entire storyline for Rocking Autumn came to me. Two and a half months later, it was complete.

I was halfway through my revision of Girl Harbor, and not only did it come to me in meditation that it was not the right time for that story to be told – but another one came crashing through that the need to write it is stronger than the need to write anything else.

So, other stories in my head:

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And until then,

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