Dr. Seuss was my first love. When my mom left me in the
children’s section of the library I’d find Horton and the Cat. My mom hated the
good doctor and refused to checkout his books. He was my secret, guilty
pleasure. Eventually, I read about Narnia, Oz, and Green Gables.
When my mom grew too sick to visit the library, a lady from
our church brought her a stash of romances which she kept in a big box beside
her bed. Weekly, this good friend replenished the box. My mom didn’t know I
read her books; it was like the Seuss affair, only sexier. Reading became my
escape from a horrific and scary situation. Immersed in a story, I didn’t have
to think about the life and death drama taking place on the other side of my
bedroom wall. Books were my hallucinogenic drug of choice. In college, I
studied literature and fell in love with Elliot, Willa, and too many others to
mention. (This had no similarity to my dating life.)
I’m no longer a child living with a grieving father and a
dying mother, nor am I the co-ed in search of something or someone real,
nonfictional. I’m an adult blessed with an abundance of love. I love my God, my
husband and our children, my dog, my friends, my neighbors, my writing group,
the birds outside my window.
Because I’m a writer, I also love my characters. I adore
their pluck, courage and mettle. I admire the way they face and overcome
hardships. But, as in any relationship, I sometimes I get angry with them and
think that they are too stupid to live. At those times, I have to remind myself
that they exist only in my imagination unless I share. Writing for me is all
about sharing--giving back to the world that has so generously blessed me.
I learned a long time ago that the world is full of life and
death dramas. Sometimes we need a story to help us escape. And most of us won’t
be fortunate enough to have a church lady deliver us a big box of romance. We
have to seek out our own entertainment, and in today’s world we are bombarded
with so many ways to fill our time and divert our attention. But books never run
out of batteries. We can go to the library—or if you have a tablet, online—and there
are thousands of stories to choose from, and they’re free. Books introduce us
to unknown worlds, courageous thinking, different point of views.
Sometimes I get caught up in the creation of a story and the
pleasure is all mine. But when the slogging is hard, when the words won’t come,
when the characters are wooden and boring, I remember my younger self, my dying
mother, my grieving father, and I write. Not because I enjoy it, but because someone,
somewhere, might need to escape into a story.
