 Writers live differently than other people. No matter how elemental or visceral an
experience may be (war, sex, death, bad weather), or how bizarre or ordinary an
object may be—there is some part of the writer’s brain that is studying it,
eyeing it artistically, pondering how it could be captured in words.
Personally, I think writers are born, not made. (A writer friend of mine once said, “Writing
isn’t an art—it’s a congenital disease!”) From a very early age, I adored stories, and I knew I had to write them,
in one form or another.
Desire comes before knowledge, unfortunately. My first serious writing project was a
novella about a girl and a fawn – a pathetic story, in more ways than one! My family didn’t own a typewriter, so I
painstakingly hand-lettered the text on lined paper. It was rejected by Reader’s Digest – all three times I sent it in.
Since then I’ve learned a thing or two about the writing
process – not to mention marketing. I’ve
worked as a high school and college English teacher, a technical editor, and a
free-lance writer. I’m also a counselor
who has worked for many years with adults, adolescents, and troubled
families. I see counseling as a close
cousin to writing: both are predicated
on the power of words.
During all the years I’ve worked at other jobs, I’ve dreamed
of making writing my primary career. Along the way, I’ve done a great deal of writing in conjunction with
every job I’ve had, published some articles and poems, launched a series of
mystery books (under another name), and gathered mountains of research material
for subjects that intrigue me.
But there has always been this dilemma: the outside world is my subject. I can’t be out there—doing and
experiencing things—and writing at the same time. However, if I don’t get out there and
do things, grapple with problems, commiserate with people—in other words, live—then
I quickly find that my inner world begins to fade, like a blanket left too long
in the sun.
It’s not like that for everyone. Just as every person is unique, so is every
writer’s life. I know some people—some
of them very young—who do extraordinary work and rarely leave the sanctuary of
their writing place. For others, like
me, it may take decades to gather the raw materials to say what must be said.
Regardless of our individual tasks, ways of working, and
personal needs, however, I’ve found that—like people in other lines of
work—writers are usually enriched, refreshed, and inspired by the company of
other writers. My hope is that this web
space is a place where we writers can “meet” and allow some of those good
things to happen.
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