I love to read. I read voraciously, which has given birth to a love of words. I love to put words together in a creative way to say something rather ordinary. (I practice this on my Facebook statuses which is the best place I've found to say something without saying anything at all.)
Somehow though, it's never occurred to me to BE a writer.
Then a friend tells me about her great idea for a book.
She asks me to help her write it.
I can't even string my own thoughts together halfway coherently; what makes me think I can translate someone else's ideas into a story?
She gave me an assignment to write a short story. Because, as she puts it, "we gotta get OUT there."
So I did.
And I love it.
But it scares me.
I think it's a good story. But I think I would be completely embarrassed if someone actually read it. Something that was supposed to be suspenseful ended up a little more sensual than I thought it would.
And now I completely get when a writer says their story took on a life of it's own.
Back to the storyboard.