me, circa 1970
I used to have a long life story that I told people who asked, which wasn’t as many as I’m leading you to believe. It’s not as though millions of people were clamoring for it. Just a few. So when these few people would ask, I’d trot out the same old story about being born, growing up, deciding to be a lawyer, an actress, a doctor and finally, a writer.
My story had a few segments about the 11 year detour I took at the phone company and how miserable I was there. And it ended with how I now write for a living, mostly books for kids and young adults and sometimes adults, too.
Then I had a baby.
And another baby.
And now my brain is fuzzy from lack of sleep and when people ask me for my life story, it’s all I can do to tell them about my babies, who are actually toddlers now and not babies at all.
Sometimes I mention the books, too. And how I started writing my first novel, The Tree Tattoo, after I dropped out of school and moved back into my parents’ basement. It wasn’t exactly the high point of my life, but I labored away at it for about five years, never thinking anyone would want to publish it. Then when I was done, instead of trying to sell it, I wrote my second novel, Dream Water. Then I sold Dream Water and only THEN did I try to sell my first book. It was all a bit mixed up.
Somewhere along the line I signed with an agent and after that I just started writing and writing more and more and more until I was able to quit my crummy job and write full-time, which, as it turns out, is my dream job. I highly recommend finding your dream job, even if you stumble along the way and then it turns out that your dream job does not always come with a dream salary. It’s worth it in the end.
And now I’m living happily ever after. Sort of.
