Origin Story
I get asked some variation of, “Why did you become a writer?” a lot. Like, a lot-a lot. Why? How? Are you mentally okay? Do you drink a lot? Where are your tortoiseshell glasses? What’s wrong with you?
Not surprisingly, these come from my dad at a pretty high rate even though I’ve been doing this a while. College degree be damned.
But, really, it’s all his fault. Mama’s, too.
I was fortunate enough to grow up in a house that encouraged imagination. “You want to play dress-up? Let’s go to the costume closet.” “You want to recreate the entire ‘Thriller’ video in the living room? Let me help you move the coffee table.”
We went on a lot of road trips: Camping, snow skiing, to those lovely Texas beaches. This was before technology in the palm of our hand had us by the balls so my dad would have to entertain us during those ridiculously long drives. Otherwise, someone (me) really would be that kid in the back seat asking if we were there yet.
So, he told stories.
My earliest memory is of “Kid City”. A whole town of just kids. Kid cops, kid mayor, kid houses that were forts or cool treehouses. Puppies, kittens, colts - no fully grown animals here. Everything and anything in the town was for or by a kid. It. Was. Awesome.
So awesome that when we got home, I promptly packed my Snoopy suitcase, filled it with only the essentials (45 record player, records, teddy bear, one shirt, one sock), and demanded I be taken there immediately.
I’m pretty sure I cried when they said I wasn’t old enough to go. You see, Kid City only revealed its location when you reached a certain age. Sniffle.
There was also the old rundown, weird-shaped building that dad said was the actual Planet of the Apes. I was too fascinated and, honestly, a little scared to ask to go there. My sister is convinced it’s in Fair Park in Dallas, I think she’s confused with the alien landing site but then again; alien’s are how all those Cadillacs took a nose-dive into the Texas desert. Aliens hate Cadillacs, you know. Shockingly, my granny didn’t get rid of hers even though I told her it was life and death.
I’ve had amazing storytellers throughout my life whether they were family, music, or books. I wanted to be Joan Jett when I grew up and, you know, she's got it covered so I think it was kind of inevitable to find myself with the passion to want to give that same joy and awe and emotion and excitement to others. Everyone should experience laughing out loud until you get a side stitch, gut-wrenching emotion, edge-of-your-seat thrills, or happily ever afters. If I can bring someone that same wonder, I know I’m doing something right.
Thanks mom and dad.
