I am not one of those people who has known from the beginning what they want to do with their life. I have been writing in some form or another all of my life, but only now am I truly able to admit that writing is my dream. As a child, I had a wild imagination, and all of my favorite games involved some type of make believe. I was an avid reader, and I had a great deal of respect for authors like Laura Ingalls Wilder, E. B. White, C. S. Lewis. The idea that I could do what they did didn't occur to me until someone else nudged me into it.

When I was a kid, pets weren't allowed in our house, so I made up my own. I had an imaginary blue jay, an imaginary cat, and an imaginary dog that was nearly as big as I was. On the playground at school my friends and I replayed scenes from our favorite movies. Our stuffed animals acted out improvised story lines with the melodrama of soap operas. I didn't know it at the time, but I was exercising a writer's most important muscle-imagination. Even then, I was writing very small pieces, usually little editorial paragraphs about trees, birds, kittens, and all the things that little girls like to think about. I read quickly and often, devouring books at a speed that made it difficult for my parents to keep me supplied. My tastes turned to sci-fi and fantasy, two genres that were so completely apart from the world I knew that they provided total escape when I needed it.

My freshman year in high school I wrote my first true piece of fiction, a science fiction short story called "The Wild Card Factor." I enjoyed writing it and was pretty proud of it, but I was totally unprepared for the response I got to it. I was shocked to find out that people actually liked my writing. Encouraged, I took a creative writing class the next year. That class was a turning point in my life, thanks to the unconditional support and encouragement of Mrs. Terri Hood. I found that I truly did enjoy writing. I used a group of friends at lunch as my editing group, and their continued positive responses were further encouragement. Writing became my secret passion. When my pen is in my hand, I hold the power of life and death, destruction and creation. It is the only time that I am completely in control of what goes on around me.

Being a writer became my secret dream, something to hold deep in the bottom of my heart beyond anyone's reach, where it can't be sullied or ruined or crushed by the world. During the week I studied math, science, and computers. On the weekends, I haunted the blank book section of the bookstore and lurked in the writer's reference section. I started carrying a notebook and pen with me all the time. I started reading books by authors and editors, and thinking, maybe someday…but still it was just a dream, always in the back of my mind but never my main focus. Many of my friends, even my close friends, never saw my writing. It was a part of me that was just for me, so intensely private that I never wanted to share it with anyone, least of all those who knew me best.

Now, after a brief attempt at studying computers in college, I have finally decided to let my dream out and see where it takes me. I continue to write whenever I can, and someday I hope you will see my name on the best sellers' list. Even though I may not be the next Wilder or White or Tolkien, I am a writer, and I simply cannot be anything else. Look for me some day in the fantasy section of your local bookstore. One day, I'm going to get there.