Writing doesn't completely represent a new way of life for me. It's more of a dream revisited. My writing is nearly as old as any of my memories. I've always composed stories go to along with life - or to take me outside it.
Then graduate school happened. While pursuing a Ph.D. in American history all my energies were channeled into that endeavor, and writing and reading non-history fare pretty much fell off the map for me.
But I finished the Ph.D. and got a fantastic job. Having done all that I decided to reclaim favorite pursuits. I spent my childhood summers working on a ranch twenty minutes from Ashland, Wisconsin. I found a horse, was puffed up with pride, and then the horse jumped on my foot and shattered it.
I was on crutches for the rest of the summer. No walking, no adventures. I had a lot of time to think.
A latent desire pushed out from inside me and begged to be addressed. I needed to write again, to write in the way that I'd always written. It was like coming back to myself. So I sat down (well, I was already sitting down - broken foot, remember?) and began to write. And now I'm writing novels. Or trying.
If you're interested in giving feedback on my writing, I'd love to have it. If you're a literary agent and want to make my dreams come true, all the better.
What I post here are drafts, works in progress, warts and all. But I want to have a venue to talk about what is a really painful process, but a necessary part of who I am.
Thanks for listening (though I realize I may still be writing to myself alone). Oh well. Good exercise in solipsism.