I’m at home with two of my favorite people in the world, and we’re writing. We’re writing together, each on our own projects, but together.
I’m at my happiest when I write. I’ve known that about myself for quite some time.
As a kid, I journaled constantly and even started writing the biography of Ralph Macchio, convinced that I could and that doing so would lead to my becoming Mrs. Ralph Macchio. I loved researching him and piecing my research together in what I believed was an act of love and destiny. Those plans didn’t pan out, but my adult self loves that my kid self had that dream and took steps towards it.
In my twenties, during law school when I should have been studying the law, I studied screenwriting and produced at least a few mediocre first drafts. I took classes and participated in online critique groups. I spent days and nights watching movies and trying to notice plot development, scenes, the three-act structure, character development and dialogue. Usually, I picked up on those elements, except when the stories so captivated me that I forgot my intention to study and instead just enjoyed the story on the screen.
In my thirties, I’ve taken writing classes and workshops on subjects ranging from personal essay to poetry to songwriting to publicity and promotion as they pertain to writing. I’ve taken classes in Austin, and I’ve even traveled to West Texas, New Mexico, North Carolina and, most recently, Washington, for them. I love spending a Saturday, a weekend or a full week in a room full of writers, published and unpublished, learning about writing and actually writing together.
Oh happy home. And happy girl, this one who loves to write.