The Post Where I Get Taken To The Woodshed

I adore writers.

I grew up being the weirdest person in the room--the geek, brainiac, live-eat-and-breathe-whatever-story-I'm-reading freako with sub-optimal social skills and near-unibrow (at least until seventh grade.) I was the kid with the too-big vocabulary, the introvert who worked in the library, who read on the bus (and in class, and on the playground) so much she got teased.

My first love was horses. My second love was reading about horses.

Becoming an equine veterinarian was the next natural step, and I loved it, too. But in my second decade of practice, amid the daily grind of owning a small business, I began feeling as though I'd lost touch with an essential part of myself--the daydreamer, the wonderfully weird, creative child who made up stories to amuse herself.

I started writing in my spare time--and soon found I'd rather write than do my 'real job.' A few years later I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and jumped.

And discovered my tribe.

Fiction writers come in every flavor, shape, size, and disposition. The books we write are just as diverse. But we all share a love of story, of escaping into a made-up reality and seeing that world through the eyes of someone other than ourselves.

It's cool to find people who share your interests. But it's REALLY cool to walk into a room and realize you're not the weirdest person there.

Fellow Tulsa writer Susan Spess Shay was kind enough to drop by this week with questions about where and how I write. Her blog is called Small Town World, and it's a great place to visit.

I can heartily vouch for her weirdness. ;-)


-T