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I never thought I’d be a writer.
I’ve always been an avid reader, but in high school I was a math and science nerd. I initially went to college for Mechanical Engineering.
Then life happened.
I changed majors a handful of times. I had two kids, got married, got divorced, graduated college, got married again, moved across the country, had another baby, and somewhere in the mix, I decided to write a book.
In 30 days 50,000 words fell from my brain onto a computer screen.
I was proud. So proud.
Family and friends told me it was good.
I was excited.
But it wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
Experienced writers murdered it with red ink. (Thankfully they had chocolate to lighten the blow.)
I was deflated but not defeated.
Stephen King’s On Writing, Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, and Janet Evanovich’s How I Write were instrumental in my growth. As was writing and writing and writing. And reading and reading and reading. And all of my amazing writing friends along the way.
Nine years after my first NaNoWriMo, I published Catfished and haven’t stopped since.