What got me to start writing? I’m not sure, exactly. The first book I ever read, without it being read to me a zillion times before, was The Iliad. The Odyssey was the second. I had a love of reading, and devoured books. I would read anything I could get a hold of. Mother Goose, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Babysitters Club, and Sweet Valley High were just a few of the books I read in elementary school.
Then I graduated to the wonderful planet Pern, where I lived the life of a Dragonrider. I thrived on those, ate them up like they were ambrosia. And read them over and over again. (If I still had them, I’d read them again, just because.) Pern was where I found myself in my dreams so often. Riding on the back of a great golden dragon into battle against Thread, that was my second life. Then it was Romeo who became my love. I remember him clearly, sitting on the shelf of my junior high school’s library shelf. I’d heard so many rumors about him, his devilsh ways. We fell in love, though it was never to be. Then I got caught and stuck deep in an attic, to live a life of confinement, denied basic freedoms, and forced to remain a secret for fear of being kicked out onto the streets. Day in and out, I battled with my brothers and sister. Oh how I cried when I lost my little brother! But we showed our mother that we were better than her, didn’t we? I became a great ballerina, and exacted my revenge.
I decided I needed to take drama. I had to, an inner… something… told me I simply must take drama in the 9th grade. I got caught up in learning how to take on a role, how to become the character. Oh how I adored the stage! The 10th grade saw a second round of drama, paired with an experimental class named “American Musical Theater”. I loved it! I could sing, dance, and act all at the same time! Oh, what a wondrous thing that class was. I grew to love the dramatic arts more, but something was off. It wasn’t quite right.
11th grade brought speech class and contemporary literature.I must say, the pair of those gave me a love for the written word. One of the assignments in my lit. class included Fahrenheit 451. All we were supposed to do was watch the movie. Reading the book was extra credit; I never saw the movie. I devoured that book, in class alone, in two days. Do you want to know why I have been so against e-books? That book is the reason. If you haven’t read it, shame on you. Stop reading this blog and go read it. It is powerful indeed. Sad thing is, as far back as it was written, so much of it is accurate to today.
I was also assigned to read Lord of the Flies. Man, that book hit me at just the right time; I was also taking psychology in 11th grade. It was something that made me think. The author there was speaking of the basic human psychology, and how even children can be twisted under the right (wrong) situations. Oh I loved how it made me think! You could say that Lord of the Flies gave me a love of books that made you think.
I picked up Stephen King, and read of a journey towards a dark and mysterious tower. I read of girl that could start fires with just a thought. And I read of a fat man being cursed by a gypsy, and losing weight quickly; and dangerously.
Unfortunately, Contemporary Literature was only a half semester course. So for the second semester I took another literature class. (Sorry, I don’t remember the name of it.) I fell in love with a man with a long nose, and a Don who battled great dragons and rescued fair maidens. I read of a poor woman forced to wear a Scarlet Letter, and of evil girls intent on driving a town into a witch hunt. We played around with words, wrote poetry, created fake newspapers, and brainstormed ideas for books we’d like to write, or read. A contest was announced: submit your short stories or poetry or whatever, and the best would be chosen to be printed into the school’s annual book. No, not yearbook, this was dedicated solely to creative writings. My teacher had caught me writing little snippets of poetry into a special notebook that I had kept to just doodle and write in. She’d asked to read them, and I was reluctant to let her.
I finally allowed her to, and she asked me to pick through them and enter them into the contest. I was unsure, and fretted over it for days. The day before the deadline, I decided I’d do it, and re-wrote three of my poems nice and neat. I signed each with a pen name. I waited and waited, and decided that I wouldn’t get picked.
A week before the end of the school year, a book was plopped onto my desk, with two bookmarks in it. My teacher stood proudly in front of me and announced to the whole class that I had not one, but two poems chosen for the publication. The pen name wasn’t applied to them, to my slight dismay. Everyone in school read those books, and everyone would stop me and tell me how beautiful my works were. I wanted to cry. I had no clue how to react. Me? I’m not special. I’m most assuredly no Homer nor King. I was stunned, completely stunned and speechless. All I could do was reply with a meek “thank you” and keep going down the hall.
The following year I decided I would take technical writing. I wanted to be able to write properly, and my grammar was horrid. I studied hard, and did extra work, just so that I could learn how to properly word my thoughts into coherent sentences. I’m not so sure those lessons have stuck so many years later!
I got married right out of high school, and had a beautiful son. My love for anything creative was squelched by my husband. I was unable to go to college like I wanted, and my daily life was dictated to me. Every now and then I would be lucky enough to have scraped together enough money to buy a new book, which would be promptly devoured. Most of the time it would be a cheap romance novel. Every now and then I’d get a gem, which I would treasure and savor.
After 9 years, we were divorced. It nearly killed me, and I ended up in an institution for two days. Not only have I studied the dark side of humanity’s sanity, I have lived within it. Those days were dark, full of the most horrid poetry I have ever written. I found MySpace, created a profile, and explored new books. I fell in love with Rice, or more specifically, Lestat. Then I found Lestat on MySpace. “Really? What is this magic?” I promptly friended him. We spoke at length of Rice’s universe, of how it worked. We spoke of how, if you used your imagination, you could live within it. He recommended several other authors, and they were quickly devoured, like the starving woman I was. I created a character and spoke with Lestat as if I were truly that character. Other friends joined in, and people searched to write with me.
I was a roleplayer! I soon created several accounts, each with a different name, each with different backgrounds and stories. My favorite, and most well known, was Katarina Perrin-Davidovitch; Kat for short. I went from writing in simple one line bits, to writing paragraphs. Then, after being introduced to a rather intriguing lion, I delved further into the realm of novella writing. Oh how I adored it!
Life eventually got in the way, as it so often does, and I have been forced to leave that world. I do miss it so very badly, and crave the camaraderie of my fellow writers. I do, often, still speak with several of the writers behind the characters. But that, dear readers, is another story for another day. My love for writing, then, began back when I sat on my mother’s knee reading The Iliad, and only blossomed as I grew up. I’ve always had a passion for the written word, no matter how it is presented to an audience.
After all, a picture may be worth a thousand words, but a good sentence can mean a thousand things.
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