When my Writing Exploded

  I have always loved stories. And I have always loved art. A glance at “My Artistic Journey in Pictures” will tell you that, but I have never shared how my casual enjoyments became serious.

     As is usual in life, I was gradually led forward by many things, people I met, interests I had, until I came to the point of realizing that my hobbies could actually become serious. Since I first heard the spoken word, my life was preparing me to love stories. Since the time that I could draw, (and probably before) my life was leading me towards my love of drawing portraits. But strangely, the realization that my hobbies could be more than just hobbies came with a big bang.  Because of that, both tales are very fun for me to recall. I will share my writing “realization” first, and then the one belonging to my art next week.  

     A treat before that, though. Below is my very first story. You will notice that it has barely been edited. (The only thing being the capitalization of a few letters.)

“The Story of Little Kit.

Little Kit was a pony. She was a yellow spotted pony to say for sure. She was born December 1973 she was born 3:00 in the morning. Her mother by her side while Farmer Mike pulled her out.

(I wonder how long it took me to realize that Kit's mother could not be both by her daughter's side and giving birth to her at the same time. It sounds as though Kit's mother was holding her hand or something while she got a tooth pulled. 😅)

a month passed Kit grew and grew finally she grew big enough for her own stall. One day Kit was called away to be a race horse Tom rode Kit for many years. Tom and Kit were friends. One day while Kit was Jumping the finish line she cut her leg.

(The strange emergence of a man named Tom...hmm...)

Tom decided Kit would not go on racing so she would be a work horse she would pull a wagon or a plow. But this did not work Kit played with the sheep ran into the cows and scared the chickens. What would Kit do? Kit went to the fair and won a prize. That was that now what would Kit do? Kit went back to were she was born 

(I can clearly see the author wondering what she should do with the horse next.)

One day she felt funny was it realy what she wanted it to be yes she had a pony in her body. The pony’s name was Sam the second. Kit’s father’s name was Sam. Sam loved honey and bread. He was a mischief maker.

(No comment. Bringing a baby onto the scene was pretty cute.)

He was a unusal pony he did not like his mother’s milk. He dosen’t look like his mother he is red with white hooves like his Grandfather. He is a Big eater and grew up fast. Sam has a star on his forehead. He can run very fast. One day Sam went in the house when Farmer Mike was out when the screen door was open and stole bread and honey. When Mike came back he was hungery and wanted bread and honey But it was gone!

(Ah, Farmer Mike is back.)

How mad Mike was! But easy about the punishment he sent into his stall with now bread and honey but weat. But Sam was strong he made a hole in the screen and ran out But Kit saw and Mike saw too. Mik hopped on Kit and ran after Sam at last Sam got tired and was caught.

(Wait...there was a screen door in the stable instead of a stall door?)

Mike did not like Sam But Kit did. What would they do with Sam as I said when Sam was born he was a mischief maker. He would run races because he was fast. He won many races

(Second person point of view...interesting.)

People loved to look at Sam. Sam loved pople to look at him so years passed Kit was soon Grandmother. So Kit Sam and his children lived happily ever after. 

(Ah, the classic "happily ever after." I love it.)

The End.”

     I love how I switched tenses, misspelled several obvious words and left out punctuations. (This was all handwritten, by the way, and each paragraph was a new page in my stapled book.) However, because I went to all the work to write the story, staple the pages and illustrate the book, I can see, even then, how much I loved creating stories and wanted to share them with the world. I was six, by the way. 

     After that, I created a short Pioneer Story, a handwritten series called The Chronicles of Mirror World (each book couldn't have been more than a few hundred words—if that) and began to get into mysteries. The difference between time that I wrote the "Kit" story, and the time at which my writing began to be serious (with the mysteries) was 5 or 6 years. In the summer of 2021, I began working on a “grown-up” novel over the span of several weeks...maybe a month. It didn’t have any sort of a plot besides a trapdoor and some stolen money, but it was my first story that I stuck with for more than a couple weeks. 

     And then my family and I traveled to Ludington, Michigan for vacation. On June 6, we went to the beach, and, because the water was too cold for me to get in, I sat in the sand and made sandcastles. When left alone in silence, I begin to talk to myself, making up stories, usually. This time was no exception. I built three sandcastles, found a small black pebble, and stuck it on the top of the tallest castle. The story that followed the placing of the black rock mentioned something about special people (they might have been elves) who had lost a special black rock and were kicked out of their cities. My mind perked up at the idea, and I went back to my beach chair where I had placed a piece of blank paper and a pencil. 

     I never take paper and a pencil to the beach. 

     But God, I think, was in control there. Without the paper that I had brought to the beach, I would most likely have forgotten the story by the time we got home. But I didn’t. I imagine that my writing would have gotten out eventually, but maybe not as soon, and who knows what I would be writing now, and what characters I would have created instead of the ones I did.

     The “sandcastle” story was named A Hero of Alindell, and, though it had a cliche, boring plot, it was the groundwork for the story it has become, as well as my passion and discipline for writing. In the winter of 2021, when I finished the first draft, I couldn’t imagine not continuing to write stories. Since then, I have written ten books, created three series (each is unconnected to the other) and made-up dozens and dozens of characters that feel real to me.  And I can trace the exploding of all of it back to that day at the Lake Michigan beach where I started my very first world. While I know that it wasn’t the defining moment for the beginning of my deep passion for writing, I know it was a defining moment. (Not surprisingly, June 6 is a little "holiday" for me.)

I can also clearly see God’s hand in my writing journey, and that may be the best part of all.