I’ve always wanted to write books. Even when I was little, before I could even read, I would draw pictures on pieces of copy paper and staple them together like a book and then dictate the captions for each picture to one of my parents. In school my favorite part of Language Arts/English every year was the creative writing unit. I learned quickly, though, that most people didnt consider “novel writer” a serious answer to the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” So, I came up with other answers. They included architect, computer programmer, civil engineer, teacher, journalist, and (very, very briefly) the ministry.
The whole time, I kept writing, knowing that the more I practiced, the better I would get, but of course, life didn’t stop. Now, at 32 years old, I find myself with an incredibly busy life full of personal and work responsibilities. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret any of the decisions I’ve made. My job allows me to pursue some of my other passions, such as food and travel. I also think that law school improved my writing to the point where it’s actually publishable. Now if I could just finish the damned novel!