Although I proclaimed for years that I wanted to be a writer, I never did anything about it. It was much easier to say I wanted to write, that I just didn't have the time. That way, I couldn't possibly be a failure. It was just a dream, and not a very practical one.

         Looking back, I realize I actually wrote a great deal all through my life. I just didn't look at it as writing. As a young girl, I had several pen pals and I enjoyed composing my letters to them. As I grew up and moved from home, I often wrote to family and friends. One year I surrendered and decided it wasn't tacky to write the Generic Christmas Letter. That very first one got rave reviews. Hey, maybe I'd stumbled onto something here.

         A few years later, I had a job as a drapery coordinator at a large company. I took it upon myself to type numerous memos to the sales and service staff. I loved the challenge of making the letters informative, interesting, and humorous. At times, I received compliments, yet it never occurred to me that this was writing, this was something I was good at, this was something exciting and rewarding.

         A few years later, my estranged father became very ill and was near death. The emotions, which overcame me, were so unexpected I felt the need to write about them. I sat down at my desk and the words flowed out of me and onto the keyboard. A writer was born.

        That story was accepted as a guest column in the St. Charles County Journals and eventually by Chicken Soup for the Soul. I fall asleep every night and wake up every morning, thinking of nothing else. Before I became so passionate about writing, what in the world did I think about?