I never set out to be an author. I never aspired to be one. Can I admit that I really don’t even like to read books? How laughable is that! My publisher and I argue about it all the time. She says I’m an author but I prefer to say I'm just a storyteller. But somehow, tangled up in all of my hesitation and excuses, I managed to write 4 children’s books, 3 adult fiction books and 1 devotional. Go figure! Life has a funny way of corralling us into the things we least want to do.
It all started with a thought…which led to an idea…leading my husband to say, “You should write that down". And so I did, fully expecting to put it aside, forget about it and go on my merry way. But the story wouldn’t leave me alone, pestering me like a 4 year-old in ToysRUs. It was relentless and kept growing inside of me like a headache that wouldn’t be ignored. Every time I sat down at my computer and emptied my mind of the daily ideas, more came, multiplying faster than I could process them. And so before I knew it, I was writing… like a lot!
First came the children’s books. As the mother of 4, they fit nicely into my simple mindset and comfort zone. They weren’t too threatening and the singsongy rhymes were fun to read to my own kids and the children at the schools and book signings. Who wouldn’t love, “Bright and sunny was the day when Peggy Piggy rolled out to play. I’m all alone. This is not fun. I need my friends. Where’s everyone?” And so on and so on. The kids smiled and I giggled along with them - yet inside my heart was full and happy because they were absorbing the ethics and values embedded within the rhyme.
I guess my husband was right, I should’ve continued my elementary education degree. Maybe I missed my calling? And maybe I didn’t.
All I know is that now I am immensely thankful for every creative idea and I treasure each one as if it was pure gold.
In the words of my wise publisher, “Don’t rob the world by dying with anything left inside of you. Die empty!”
And that is where my quest begins...