For as long as I can remember, writing has been in my blood. I was 10 the first time I wrote a short story, but I kept it under lock and key because I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing my soul and having someone not like it. I continued to write daily – 5 or 6 pages of a story and then abandoning the pages for another idea – all through high school. In 10th grade, during a creative writing class I had taken because it was supposed to be easy, I was labelled promising by my teacher, who then focused on guiding and nurturing me. That class will remain the most influential experience of my youth, and the first time that I recall ever feeling like I was actually good at something. I will also never forget how disappointed she was when I told her I wasn’t going to University for Journalism (something I still regret 10 years later).


Despite my success in the writing classes I took in high school and University – I continued to keep anything that was not to be submitted at school under lock and key. It was immensely personal (even though it was not about me), and I was too afraid to have it rejected. I had poured my heart into my work, and I didn’t think I could bear a negative response. I remember once, when I was 12 or so, my mother found a story I had started to write. She read it, and then read the rest she found underneath it. She met me when I got home with pride, encouragement and admiration, but I only felt hurt and betrayed. She tried to talk me into becoming a writer, but I was so angry at her for invading my privacy I just stormed away.

My writing flame died down when we began our journey through infertility, and I poured myself into my blog instead. I think I was just too emotional to consider writing during that time, for fear of what other feelings it might unleash. I read though – sometimes 2 or 3 books a week.

Much to my surprise and excitement – my writing flame has returned with a new fervor. Over the last few weeks I have been punching out a novel that I am determined to complete. It is both exciting and terrifying, but anything worth doing in life is both of those things, isn’t it?

This flame came at the perfect time – as we begin to proceed into Fall and then Winter. There is no place I’d rather be during the cold months than at my desk drinking a hot drink, writing, looking out over the farm.

What projects are you up to?

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