About Me

My life as a writer has been like a mouse in a bucket.* As far back as I can remember I've had something real and tangible to show for my efforts, whether it was a book in my hands or putting pen to paper. However, knowing what to do with what I have put to paper has been my haunting problem.

My writing all began as a hobby in grade school - my mom enrolled me in writers' workshops at the local town hall, where I spent more hours than I can remember staring into a candle to channel my inner writer. In the beginning, I filled dozens of thick, colorful notebooks with fanciful adventure stories about mythical phoenixes and talking dogs who could walk on their back legs.

As time moved on, I drifted from the styles of writing I was familiar with. I dabbled in poetry and prose, winning several awards at national competitions. From there, it was sci-fi and horror. I was willing to try almost anything to find that niche.

The writers' workshop eventually shut down due to lack of general interest, our numbers dwindling to three of us. I began taking on more English classes in middle school to fill my "loss" and to continue to develop my style. Most spare time was spent working on local competitions, essay contests, and national poetry tournaments. At some point, my hobby became more like a job. My works suffered, lacking their previous gusto. The notebooks were fewer by then, less vibrant and more technical - filled with character sketches and plot starters. At this point, I was feeling burnt out and ready to put writing on the backburner.

However, I had this English teacher that thought she was doing me a favor and submitted some of my work to a publisher for review. I wasn't aware until she came to me with my first offer.....just like that, I had a book deal. I turned down that first one, and then another. I wanted to concentrate on school and not editing drafts for print - the timing was just all wrong then.

Turning down those book deals is one of my biggest regrets to this day. By the time college came, I was stuck with technical writing and research papers. Creativity was the polar opposite of the objective and stamped out any last bit of my muse. So now, the question becomes what to do about that lingering regret? Do I let the mouse out of the bucket - make another attempt as a novel writer? Or do I keep the mouse in the bucket - pursue other hobbies?

After an eventful last couple of years in my personal life, I am opting for the path of least resistance: if the mouse decides to jump out of the bucket then it does, and if it doesn't then it can live its happy little life in the bucket - in other words, if my muse returns it does, and if it doesn't then I will leave the past the past.



*Mouse in the bucket: When you don't know what to do with what you've got