"Why do you want to write?"
This is the question for Topic Tuesday and we are asked to write at least 500 words. Now, when I first saw this question I had an answer on the tip of my tongue: Because I have to. It’s like asking a painter why paint. Or asking a musician why create music. With no disrespect to those creative mediums, writing is a completely different type of art that needs a specific brand of magic to come alive. It’s easy to put words to page. It’s damn difficult to make those pages come alive.
Like many authors I began reading at an early age and creating my own take of those stories. I loved Encyclopedia Brown, Charlotte’s Web, and Superfudge. When I was eleven I picked up my first romance, a Harlequin Presents novel titled Web of Silk by Yvonne Whittle. It was set in South Africa and it swept me away with love and romance and happily ever after. I knew at that moment that’s what I wanted to do, to create these beautiful love stories.
At first, I wrote for myself. I am an introverted person so I relate better to people within a book rather than people. Happily ever after makes sure I never feel the sting of heartbreak, betrayal, and rejection. I dreamed up story ideas that benefited me, that made my ordinary humdrum life exciting. I could travel to the Wild West, to South Africa, to England or be on a pirate ship with a swashbuckling handsome pirate with a heart of gold.
As I got older, the thought of being a writer for a living was like traveling to the moon. Impossible. I told my ex-husband once what I wanted to do and he laughed at me. But despite that, I kept writing because 1) the character voices inside my head wouldn’t shut up and 2) I couldn’t not write. I was horrible, of course, but who isn’t when they first start out? I had moved into the world of fan fiction, mainly because I was into Star Trek and worked conventions. Fan Fiction back then was printed booklets that cost $5. That was my first taste of having people read what I created and it was a fucking rush! I made no money, of course, but I didn’t care. People were reading what I wrote!
I kept at it. But now my marriage had crumbled and I moved to Los Angeles. And then something amazing and wonderful was invented and it changed my impossible dream. It was the Kindle. Of course, I dismissed it, much like I did Madonna when I saw her very first video on MTV and thought she was never going to last. Good thing I don’t like to gamble, eh?
In 2004 my boyfriend and I had lived in Paris (France) and it was during that time when I wrote my first erotica novel, Black Leather Pants. It wasn’t an erotica romance at first. I had no idea what that was until I read a Maya Banks book, but after that eye opening revelation, I knew what BLP was missing, so I rewrote, took a chance and in 2009 Siren accepted my book for publication.
Now, the stories are crowding my brain and I have a whole list of “story ideas” in my computer files. Now that I’ve finally found my path, the voices are screaming to be written.
So why do I write? I write for myself. I write for the tired and weary nurse just coming off a twenty hour shift and needs to forget about the patient she lost. I write for the mother of three who can’t seem to find a breath until she lies down at night to read herself to sleep. I write for the soldier who needs a moment of escapism from the reality around her. I write for the wife whose husband works all the damn time. I write for anyone who craves romance.