For some reason I’ve always looked for creative outlets. When I was little, I can remember few times when I was as excited as I was when my daddy brought me home typewriter paper to draw on. A small stack of sheets of creamy white paper was more beautiful to me than a new dress, a new toy or even my favorite candy bar.
I could sit for hours and draw. I drew fashion drawings of women in exquisite dresses (I thought.) I drew horses and cats and taught myself how to shade a ball to make it look round, or how to show a shadow on the side of a box from the sun’s light.
As I got older, I experimented with different creative outlets. My mother made me take piano lessons, which I later realized I was so happy about. I begged for art books, coloring books, even paint by numbers canvases. I sang in the church choir, and I wrote poems and stories.
When I decided it was time to choose a career, I chose pharmacy. It promised a good salary and the possibility of great benefits and, something I always needed–security, While I practiced pharmacy, I explored oil and acrylic painting and some other less common outlets such as SCUBA diving, backpacking, roller skating and snow skiing. But eventually, I decided that what my favorite creative endeavor was, was writing.
Why was it my favorite? Because nothing I had ever done was as satisfying, as fulfilling, as exciting as creating characters and stories. It was the only thing that was remotely as interesting to me as reading. And in fact, it was more interesting. Was and is. I am passionate about writing. I need to write, to create stories that people want to read. I feel so lucky that I can do what I love and get paid a little bit to do it.