I am one of those people who started writing as soon as I could hold a crayon. When you’d ask me, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I always said, “An author.” My teachers used to let me stay inside and write during recess. I had an illustrator and everything. We wrote story after story. Construction paper and staples created a book we were proud of.
Needless to say, I’ve been in love with the written word from a very young age. In high school, I would devour any piece of literature I could find. I even won the reading award for the most books read. My English teachers always told me I had talent. I started thinking about what I would major in while at college. Journalism was something I’d always loved, and I knew I wanted to pursue a career in writing, so it seemed like a no brainer.
College. Wow. How much fun was that? Way, way too fun. I still managed to have an over active social life while excelling in school. My professors were amazing. No lie. Absolutely, incredibly, amazing. I was pushed to take unique assignments, and I did whole heartedly. One of my professors said, “You’re really good at this,” after I did an assignment on this guy who would go around and pick up trash on the campus. My professor said I was good at taking things that may not seem that exciting, but finding that right angle and really making it an interesting piece. He recommended me to the largest newspaper in the southeast, and soon after I started doing correspondence work. Feature stories were my passion since it was the more creative side of newspaper writing. I covered everything from interviewing a psychic who worked with police to find a killer, to going to an elementary school and watching kids read to dogs through a pet therapy program.
I only made $60 an article for the newspaper I worked for. Not a lot at all. My professor said, “Be prepared to take a brown bag lunch every day. Journalism is a hard living.” I took that to heart. My parents were (are) hard workers. They instilled in me a drive and desire to work, but they also gave me something to strive for. I had a lifestyle I wanted to keep, and I needed to be financially stable in order for that to happen. I met with my advisor (who I love and trust), and we talked about my options. She suggested scientific writing. I needed to minor in biology, so I did. Wow, was that hard? I cried after every test.
After college, I took jobs in public relations. I worked for a year and a half before my boyfriend (now husband) and I woke up and said we were going to move. Three weeks later, and I’m in Colorado. That was five years ago.
Colorado is amazing. I took a job working in publishing, but it was for scientific reports. I started writing long pieces of fiction. I was using my editorial skills. I was growing as a writer. I met some amazing local authors and people who share the same passions as I do. I dove in. I read as much as I could about the craft of writing, took classes, workshops, went to conferences. I was a dry sponge looking to soak up as much knowledge as possible. When I dive in, I dive in. Pulling me out can be next to impossible.
I started doing freelance editing, and I eventually applied to Month9Books, where I am now the Senior Editor and Acquisitions Editor. I’m polishing my YA horror novel, and I’ve gotten amazing feedback on it.
I have specific goals in mind. Some people may call me picky, and that’s okay. We all have our own goals. I know what mine are, and I know I’ll reach them, because I won’t stop until I do. I’ve overcome a lot, and I know I’ll overcome more.
This is an ongoing journey. I’ve met some lifelong friends along the way. I even have the privilege of being the editor and critique partners of these God sent friends.
I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve had, and I’m thankful to know all of you.
To be continued…