I always figured that I’d write the books I loved to read: romance, fantasy, chick lit, that sort of thing. I’ve always been eclectic about both my reading and my writing, so this particular writer fantasy suited me. Of course, I haven’t published that “breakout” novel, hit the bestseller list, or any of the things that go along with the fantasy. Kind of like the kids (both young and old) who play air guitar along with their favorite songs.
Still, I wrote. Some bad, some good, almost none of it published. But that was ok.
Since I’ve had Ray and entered the ranks of Mommyhood, my writing has changed. No big suprise there, as Mommyhood changes everything. I just didn’t realize that it could take me back to the beginning.
When I was much, much younger– 18-19-20, I used to write children’s stories. I babysat alot, and the kiddies loved them and well, it was fun. So I told stories. Most were off the cuff, but some of them I wrote down.
Since Ray, I started writing poetry. A lot of it geared straight at him. And I love it. I love taking the experience of listening to the rain falling on the window and immortalizing it. It’s pretty cool.
And now there are the ones that I make up, all on my own, just for him. I don’t write my large, sweeping stories any longer. But that’s ok. I’m enjoying what I’m doing again, having fun with words.
If you’re lucky maybe someday I’ll tell you the story of Franken Baby.