Someone asked me the other day why I write. Easy. I write because I don’t know how not to.
I’ve been a storyteller all my life. Since I could hold a pen, and make marks on paper that weren’t just copying something off the blackboard. It’s as natural to me as breathing.
As time went on, the stories got longer, more complex. I’d get an idea and just run with it, to see where it took me. When I was 14, one of those ideas took me on a wild, 260-page adventure cranked out on an old Adler portable typewriter (forever remembered as the Tripewriter) in one-and-a-half linespacing. I can still smell the carbon paper. Continue reading