Chautona

There is so much that one can say about one’s self.  For instance, one can say that one is tired of referring to oneself in the third person.  Just as I am.  No, not the hymn.  The statement of fact.  I am tired of referring– oh never mind.

I like words.  I always did.  It all started when I was born with a cleft palate.  Dr. Anderson (I think that’s the guy’s name… I was kind of small) told my parents to encourage me to talk as much as possible.  I did.  All.  The.  Time.  Just sayin’.  See, even my slang is about talking.  He also told my parents to read to me, to talk to me.  I needed to hear proper enunciation and pronunciation.  I needed to be immersed in language and words in order to overcome what otherwise would have been a terrible speech impediment.  When I talked, up until around age ten or so, I sounded like I had a mouth full of marshmallows and a stuffy nose.

So my parents talked.  They let me talk.  They read me books… I inhaled them.  I’m convinced that this is why they taught me to read so early.  If I’m reading to myself, their voices get a break.  Mine never seemed to need one.  Just sayin’.  Anyway, I spent hours of my childhood reading.  I literally inhaled books, and I wasn’t too picky about what I read.  So, I reread everything I owned, everything in the library of whatever town I happened to live in, and basically glutted myself on books.  What does that have to do with being a writer?  Well, I’ll tell you.  I’m accommodating that way.

Sometime around age twelve, my mother gave me the book, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and in one sense, it changed my life.  There’s a scene in the story where Francie Nolan wants a little pie that the teacher is giving away.  She’s hungry– she’s always hungry.  However, it’s shameful to “go begging” so like the other kids in the class, she does nothing until the teacher goes to throw it in the trash.  She can’t stand it.  Raising her hand, she offers to take it to a family with twin girls (there is no such family).  All the way home, she enjoys the little pie.  The following Monday, the teacher asks about the pie… how the little girls liked it.  Francie gets carried away telling about how the doctor said it saved the children’s lives etc.  At last, guilt ridden, she confesses that she ate it (which the teacher knew), and the teacher’s words made a deep impression on my soul.  “Tell what happened; write what should have happened.”  For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what was wrong with me.  I hated telling the prosaic facts– particularly when I didn’t want them to be the facts.  I didn’t want to be dishonest, though, and that ugly word is probably what kept me from being a first-class liar.

Enter, writing.  I tried poetry (pathetic), fine literature (I guess you have to have a fine mind to do that), children’s picture books (not bad), and finally just started creating imaginary friends and worlds where they lived.

One of these days, I’ll make a point to find an agent and do things the traditional way, but I’ve found a great sense of satisfaction in writing the books, editing, planning the layout, designing the covers, and seeing people buy them!  If this was the day of the old, “Send your book to the publisher and they’ll fix it,” then I might be more inclined to do things the traditional way, but alas, they want a very nice polished document these days– almost print ready.  At that point, with the ability to have my books on places like Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble, it isn’t as much of a priority.

I am fortunate enough to live in the great state of California (in the Mojave Desert) with my husband Kevin and eight of my nine children.  My eldest is married with two children, so I have the fun of a son-in-law and grandbabies to enjoy.  I’ve graduated four out of my nine children from our home school, and they’re all doing quite well in their lives.  My younger children keep me from gettng too selfish, and someday I’ll be fully retired as their teacher.  I have to say, I’m lookin’ forward to it.  Teaching about gerunds was fun the first time… not so much anymore.  I salute all of those in the education field.  You are my heroes.

When I’m not writing (which I admit isn’t often) I enjoy blogging (a totally different kind of writing, trust me), paper crafts, sewing, smocking, photo editing, and old music.  No, really, I like OLD stuff… the Beatles are too new fangled for me.  Yeah,I know they’re before my time… but I like stuff before my PARENTS time.

I’m sure I could write all day about me, but honestly, I’d rather not.  I’m bored to tears already, and I’m sure you must be too.  Read my books… they’re much more interesting.