I am grateful that I was blessed with a vivid imagination, a love of fantasy, and a passion for writing.
My flair for the dramatic erupted quite early in life, as I was prone to tantrums. As awful as that was for my family, my natural tendencies for drama and getting into trouble paved the way for more positive outlets such as dancing, singing, acting, and of course writing. Being an adopted child left lots of room for me to imagine myself as anyone in the world, and create extraordinary adventures to go on. Many times these made up adventures would spill over into my dreams at night and morph into even more amazing stories. The downside to all of that was a tendency to tell some whopping great fibs. I was indeed blessed with a vivid imagination (advantageous, or disturbing depending on your point of view).
During my adolescence I was a wild-child and had to learn my lessons the hard way. I did steer clear of drugs and alcohol, but I found other ways to get into trouble. The dichotomy was, I was on a quest for peace in my life at the time. Foreboding poetry was my main outlet, although some verses were quite beautiful and hauntingly gripping.
My determination to become a writer was great and I studied journalism in college. Soon I was writing for the college newspaper, and later I worked as a free-lance writer for a local daily newspaper. Seeing my first by line, and actually earning a token sum of money, was enough to convince me that I could make it if I worked at it, so I decided to try my hand at writing a novel. But by then my daughter was old enough to start school, so I put my writing ambitions on hold.
With ink coursing through my veins I couldn’t keep the constant flow of words at bay. For a time I worked as an assistant to Stan Cornyn on his book “Exploding: The Highs, Hits, Hype, Heroes, and Hustlers of the Warner Music Group” while my own desk at home overflowed with several half completed stories and dozens of plot ideas scribbled on as many bits of scratch paper. But it was a throwback to my younger years, when stories blossomed late at night through the deepest recesses of my dreaming mind, that brought me to where I am now — a dream in which I witnessed as my father vanished into another time. He managed to communicate with me by unusual means, and so set things in motion for “A Slip In Time: The Book Of Eventide” to be written.
I am currently working on a number of other writing projects.
Member since 2005
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