I grew up in a simple town filled with not so simple imaginations. My family is Irish therefore we are full of storytellers. I haven’t had the luck to visit Ireland, but I am told Kentucky, especially Eastern Kentucky looks a lot like Ireland. My family tells me that’s one of the main reasons our family decided to place roots here.
Kentucky is known for many things, horse park, whiskey, UK Basketball, hillbillies--the misconception that we have no electric and the girls are barefoot, pregnant with a baby on their hip in the kitchen. Oh, and my favorite is the grass really blue?
For those who are wondering…yes we have electric and no we’re not all pregnant in the kitchen. I have been told that at times the grass in some areas, with the sun hitting it just right looks blue, but it’s mostly green.
I grew up in a family who told stories, stories passed down of Ireland, stories based on life experience and events and stories made up on a whim at family dinners. So, it only seemed natural that I took up the tradition as well.
My granny tells everyone that I was writing stories long before I could write. I would draw pictures and try to tell a story that went along with those pictures. As I grew older my granny bought me a journal. She told me that young ladies had to mind their manners and what they said. She told me that I should write down my thoughts, express my feelings, tell my stories. Each journal I filled she would buy it from me with a new journal. I mainly wrote poems, stories that made no sense, my dreams, about my day, things that I think all little girls wrote about.
It wasn’t until I was 13 that I took writing seriously. I read a book, Montana Sky by Nora Roberts. It was the first book I had read outside of school.
I fell in love.
With storytelling, romance, Nora Roberts. And I thought ‘I can do this. I immediately pulled out a journal, I collect them to this day, and began to write my story. It was titled ‘I Can’t Be Friends, Anymore’. It was based on true life with a whole lot of fiction mixed in. It was terrible, absolutely terrible. But I tried, I attempted to follow my dream of becoming a published author. Now that story is tucked away somewhere for safe keeping, someplace I hope no one will ever find.
That was 13, almost 14 years ago. It took me almost that long to become a published author. But the important thing is I never gave up. I kept writing, I kept striving to follow my dreams.
Thanks so much for stopping by and hearing a little about my state and my writing. You can find out more about me and my writing at the following places: