Writing gave me a voice when I had none.
When I was seven years old, I was in my 2nd year of speech therapy due to a tongue thrust that made it hard me for me to pronounce certain words.
And as an already shy kid, I quickly learned to listen more than I spoke in fear of embarrassing myself.
It took me seven longs months before I stopped pronouncing the number six as sex.
Those made for some interesting moments in class.
My therapist at the time, a nice older women who smelled like fresh baked cookies, gave me my first journal.
Occesnly after school, I would jot down how my crush stared at me for a full five seconds so he must like me, right? And or how my best friend at the time was being such a bitch.
However, I quickly grew bored writing about my own life because, hello! ADHD, and penned my first romance story.
It was about a young women who’s family is moving to a different state, leaving her great love behind. As all happy endings go though, he rushed to the airport and declared how he can’t live without her.
It was twenty pages of lust, and romance, and when I wrote the words, THE END, I had never felt so powerful before.
Seven year old me was downright hooked.
Flash forward 15 years, and I self-published my first novel, “Love of a Rockstar,” which went on to sell over 5,000 copies.