
Why do you write?
When I started, I was told by others they had been writing for years, some as early as their teens. I didn’t start until my early 40s.
Why did I start? My husband told a good friend of ours that he felt I wrote well. She told me. I mean, what better way to tell your wife than to a friend, right? I mulled that over, wondering if I had anything in me to write a book of any length.
I had two surgeries within six weeks of each other and was going to be stuck recovering more or less. So, I took on the task of writing something, anything that would work. I had heard for a while that you write on what you know.
So, what did I know? What could I possibly know that I could translate into a book? I literally looked around my house to see if there was something I knew that I could turn into a book.
My eyes landed on our rescued Amazon parrot, Jasper. He looked at me, and that was all it took. At that point, he had been with us for ten years.
From that, four books written. Three are published, one is in a queue from my publisher. It has been a joy to write.
Writing is freedom for me. Anything can be going around me, but if I am locked in a scene or plot, you really have to shout if you want my attention.
Why I write is hard to explain, I feel, to people who don’t write, but fellow writers get me. They understand being lost in the words and pages that they are creating. It is a joy that is priceless and a joy that I didn’t know I needed until I started doing it.
I know I am not explaining it well. Maybe, perhaps, if you write a short story and the words fill up page after page, the utter joy that I feel might be found by you.

