As a kid I always loved going to the library at 10th and Polk in downtown Amarillo. I’d find a book and curl up in a corner to read all afternoon. I remember feeling like I discovered a book. Like I was the first and only person to read it. From there, I think I developed a need to own books. Once I read them I wanted them near just in case I wanted to go on that adventure again. You’d think after awhile I’d have enough books, but no. I still love discovering the next one.
Writing is the same with me. I discover a plot, or character, and let them take me on an adventure. For a while, it’s a private affair I have with the imaginary people in my head. Then, as I fill pages with their lives, they grow up and don’t need me anymore. Their story begins to live in a book. Slowly, sometimes painfully, I turn them free and go on to other people with other dreams and problems. My story becomes a book, but it’s not my story, really, it’s the characters’ and when someone finds their story and tells me how much they enjoyed it, I find myself thinking, “I knew and loved those people too.”
When someone comes up to me and says, “You don’t know me, but I read your books.” I always think, “Yes, I do. We’re related.”
Have a great week,
