When I was in the 6th grade I read Gone with the Wind for the first time.
And I fell in love with writing.
I loved how I could become so absorbed in words and how when written the correct way, I would be immersed in the story. I became Scarlett O'Hara begging Rhett Butler not to go. I cried her tears, felt her grief and heartbreak.
It was such a powerful emotion to go through at such a young age, but it inspired me.
I whipped out a notebook, sharpened a pencil and sat down, ready to become a novelist.
I wanted nothing more than to be able to provoke thought and feelings from my readers. I wanted nothing more than to bring a stranger to tears with my words. I wanted them to feel victory when my heroine triumphed and pain when she fell.
Since starting my writing career all those years ago (17 to be exact), I've written countless pages. I've written poems (which I still don't understand, even with a degree in English), short stories, fan fiction (yes, fan fiction), novels, magazine articles. I've written it all.
Even romance stories.
And I must admit, it's the romance stories that do me in every time.
It's the tragedy of love that grips my soul and makes me (literally) racing to write the next word. I'm sure it's a tragedy to think that after all the studying of the classics I've done, I get the most enjoyment out of writing about a girl falling in love.
But to create two characters and have them meet at the right (and possibly wrong) times, to perfect their first kiss, to create obstacles, to have them fall in love... it gets me every time.
And the men... boy, do I love having my way with them.
I can make the males in my stories do anything I want.
I can make them true men that are rough and hands down, sexy. I can make them weak and groveling. I can do anything and that my dears, is power.
So when I get asked what I write, I tend to only speak of the paid writing assignments or my blog, I tend to keep the fact that I write trashy romances hidden, until now.
Maybe underneath it all I'm foolish, but I'm a fool for love.
the year of the bike
3 hours ago