I am a self taught writer. Throughout grade school I earned terrible marks in English and writing. It wasn't until I attended university that my literary talent blossomed, but even now I struggle. My spelling is atrocious, my sentence structure needs improving and my punctuation leaves something to be desired. So why the heck do I write novels? What gives me the gull to put my books out there at all?
It's not just that I have a story to tell; I'll tell you that much. As one great writer once said, "Making up a story isn't writing; it is merely mental masturbation." Hart St Martin Raina's story has been plaguing my mind since I was 16 years old. Though, at first she was a comic book and her name was Cory. For the last 14 years it's been her voice in my head, visions of her life in my dreams. She demands her story be told. I simply do not know what I would do if I couldn't write it and share it with the world! So, no, having a story to tell is just part of the reason I'm an indy author. (cheesy grin)
It's not just because I have mommy issues. My mother was a very hard working single mother. Sometimes she worked as many as three jobs just to live paycheck to paycheck with three kids. When she was home she always escaped her hard life in a book. I remember being jealous of those books. They had more time with her than me and they helped her better than I ever could. I was just another mouth to feed, just another obligation, another bill...but, maybe if I wrote the books she escaped to, it would be as if she were with me. But, that's not the reason. That's just part of the reason. (sad face)
It most certainly isn't because I have an overactive mind, though that I have. My mind is constantly racing with ideas: problem solving, over thinking, coming up with knew ideas and innovations. Writing gives this fevered mind direction. If I didn't write I'd go mad! But, again this is just part of the reason. (cross-eyed)
I'm not a writer because I 'm crazy imaginative, though I totally am. I hate myself something fierce, but if I can give myself just one compliment it's that. Ever since I can remember I've drawn, painted, carved, molded, created stories in my mind. Imagination, CHECK....but that's just part of the reason I write. (wink)
It's not just because I crave challenging activities. As a kid and teen I felt stupid. I knew my family didn't really expect much from me. I felt that they expected me to become a pregnant teen, quit school, work at fast food and maybe turn to substance abuse or something...so I did the exact opposite. I kept my legs closed and my head in the books. I promised myself that I'd earn a degree (through, I really wish I could afford a master's degree). My measly B.S. degree makes me feel inadequate. In short, I feel like I have something to prove. I'm not dumb. I don't make irrational life choices. I'm a hard worker. I strive for a career. I'm more than you think I am, but I'm still not good enough...So, I write. I challenge myself to do the one thing I couldn't do as a child, and I write every single day of my life. Just another part of the reason I write. (determined scowl)
I have the story, I have the mental issues, I have the brain power, I have the imagination and I have the drive, but the icing on the cake, the one thing that ties it altogether and makes writing possible. I have the support. My husband, my siblings, my aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends; they all believe in me. Without them I'd be lost. I'm bipolar, so that means that for a couple weeks I'm on top of the world...and for a couple of weeks I literally hate everything about me. I need love and support to go on and they give me that, and I can't thank them enough.
Sentence structure, punctuation, spelling typos; these can be fixed easy-peasy. It's called editing...The other shit, they can't be fixed or faked or added in later. Yes I'm not perfect by any means, but I'm trying to be.
It's not just that I have a story to tell; I'll tell you that much. As one great writer once said, "Making up a story isn't writing; it is merely mental masturbation." Hart St Martin Raina's story has been plaguing my mind since I was 16 years old. Though, at first she was a comic book and her name was Cory. For the last 14 years it's been her voice in my head, visions of her life in my dreams. She demands her story be told. I simply do not know what I would do if I couldn't write it and share it with the world! So, no, having a story to tell is just part of the reason I'm an indy author. (cheesy grin)
It's not just because I have mommy issues. My mother was a very hard working single mother. Sometimes she worked as many as three jobs just to live paycheck to paycheck with three kids. When she was home she always escaped her hard life in a book. I remember being jealous of those books. They had more time with her than me and they helped her better than I ever could. I was just another mouth to feed, just another obligation, another bill...but, maybe if I wrote the books she escaped to, it would be as if she were with me. But, that's not the reason. That's just part of the reason. (sad face)
It most certainly isn't because I have an overactive mind, though that I have. My mind is constantly racing with ideas: problem solving, over thinking, coming up with knew ideas and innovations. Writing gives this fevered mind direction. If I didn't write I'd go mad! But, again this is just part of the reason. (cross-eyed)
I'm not a writer because I 'm crazy imaginative, though I totally am. I hate myself something fierce, but if I can give myself just one compliment it's that. Ever since I can remember I've drawn, painted, carved, molded, created stories in my mind. Imagination, CHECK....but that's just part of the reason I write. (wink)
It's not just because I crave challenging activities. As a kid and teen I felt stupid. I knew my family didn't really expect much from me. I felt that they expected me to become a pregnant teen, quit school, work at fast food and maybe turn to substance abuse or something...so I did the exact opposite. I kept my legs closed and my head in the books. I promised myself that I'd earn a degree (through, I really wish I could afford a master's degree). My measly B.S. degree makes me feel inadequate. In short, I feel like I have something to prove. I'm not dumb. I don't make irrational life choices. I'm a hard worker. I strive for a career. I'm more than you think I am, but I'm still not good enough...So, I write. I challenge myself to do the one thing I couldn't do as a child, and I write every single day of my life. Just another part of the reason I write. (determined scowl)
I have the story, I have the mental issues, I have the brain power, I have the imagination and I have the drive, but the icing on the cake, the one thing that ties it altogether and makes writing possible. I have the support. My husband, my siblings, my aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends; they all believe in me. Without them I'd be lost. I'm bipolar, so that means that for a couple weeks I'm on top of the world...and for a couple of weeks I literally hate everything about me. I need love and support to go on and they give me that, and I can't thank them enough.
Sentence structure, punctuation, spelling typos; these can be fixed easy-peasy. It's called editing...The other shit, they can't be fixed or faked or added in later. Yes I'm not perfect by any means, but I'm trying to be.
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