I was born a writer in 1978. I began to realize it ten years later, which was about the same time someone tried to convince me magic wasn't real. Phft... what an idiot he was.
I wrote small books in grade school and high school. I had a few encouraging teachers along the way who either had loads of vision or were completely blind. I'm going with the latter.
I suffered the next fifteen years unable to motivate my self to the position of 'bum on chair hands on keyboard'.
Mid year 2010 I had enough and I swore (again) I would do it. I would write my novels. I've been writing ever since, at 4am daily. Yes, that's extremely early.
I finished my first rough draft novel (Lightning Child) before the year was through. I'm committed to getting 4 more written before 2011 is history. Wish me luck.
I won an award in Elementary school for writing a small detective mystery novel in a young authors contest. Ever since then I thought it would be a swell idea to do that again. So I did multiple times through to high school. It wasn't much better, but it was longer and bigger, which in America is always a good thing.
Ever since high school the idea of being a full time writer was my plan to a career. I was already writing and I loved the feeling I had when I was writing a story. My imagination filled me with emotions and intrigue. I had a problem though. I had chapter one-itis. So I began reading a series of books on writing that all agreed on the simple fact. "You can't make a living writing fiction." Being that I was young, impressionable, and would believe anything already published (if it got published it had to be true) I believed those lies and stopped writing.
I pursued another way to get those stories in my head out through another serious interest of mine. 3D art. So when I went to college I moved across the country from small town Idaho to Phoenix Arizona, one of the biggest (and definitely hottest) cities in the United States. Well, like the military, college recruiters lie. They couldn't give me what I wanted. But the school right next door could. So after a year of school in the wrong direction I switched to a community college to get some slightly cheaper credits then enrolled into the school next door. The Art Institute of Phoenix.
Which turned out to be a great way to spend a lot of money to get the Art degree I wanted. It however wouldn't get me money or a job I later realized after pounding the pavement for nearly two years. Thanks alot dot-com crash. Starving artists for a reason, right?
Eventually I found a reasonable job and after a decade found my way into something I can put my hat on. The storyteller bug never left me. Movies and books, anything that held a 'zing' moved me. It made me want to sit down and plot out a story, then write it. I lacked on one thing though, the motivation to turn intense desire into action.
Eventually I grew tired of failure and I really truly committed to writing, even if I spend my whole life failing and with a readership of one (me), I was going to write my books. Even if it turned out I was writing for myself, I had to do it.
Here I am, getting there. Some days one word at a time.
I am a writer.