A twitter of bird song followed by rustling leaves outside a window. Swishing waters rumbling onto rocky shores. There’s never been a shortage of that in Northern Ontario. Ugg… that’s no good.
To tell the truth, I don’t like talking about myself. I’ve always found my life to be so boring. A common saying I have is that I’ve lived under a rock. I haven’t done much beyond traveling to Germany, but that was on family matters and not pleasure. It’s no wonder that I’ve always had such a high functioning imagination. It never stops, really.
I was the kid who loved exploring, and it’s true even today. I’m a tomboy. It was never dresses, dolls or playing house for me, no sir. I’d much rather be playing with my brother’s cars or outside in the dirt. One of my favorite things to do was pretending I was a knight exploring the wilds or saving a princess. Give me trees and grass any day. Though from being such a weird one, I never had many friends; two at most, if that. It was easier to keep track of when running off exploring. If they weren’t around, then it was a swing for me and a good nap. I’m not kidding. I’ve fallen asleep on a swing set before and didn’t fall off.
As a teenager I mellowed out a bit. I still loved going for the rare hike with my dad, but those were rare since he was always working. Beyond that I hung out with my best friend. I’d tell her stories of dreams that I’d have and continue them on beyond the dream realm. That’s where my first, independent story idea came from. I had written plenty of fanfiction, but never finished them. That dream was different: it begged to be finished.
That dream became my on and off project throughout the rest of high school and college. There were other bits and pieces of stories that I made but none were as important. It was surprising that I loved writing so much. Reading was the bane of my existence. I loathed reading throughout school. The only exception was the Harry Potter novels by J.K. Rowling. Beyond hers, if I had to read, it I would do anything in my power not to. Thank goodness that has changed since then.
Writing also helped me through difficult times along with my art. I had gone through an abusive relationship which tore me apart and left me in pieces. To further the damage, I had gone through abuse from a close friend shortly after, breaking me even further. To this day I’m still not whole. These betrayals helped me understand human nature more clearly and my writing gained depth from it. I had to learn that life is not all roses; there are thorns in there too.
My writing has become something very dear to me. Each character is like a child, and I shared it only with those close to me. The few who’ve read the drafts enjoyed the reading. They encouraged me to publish when all I had was wiggly worms in my stomach. Courage and I are acquaintances, we only pass each other by briefly and at odd times. Now my novel By the Light of a Darkened Forest is out there and all I want is for people to enjoy the story.
By now, some of you are probably wondering what’s the point of the first part with the birds and water. It’s what I love the most, besides my creativity. Nature is such a magical thing to me, such a wonderful magical thing. Even as a child, I felt called to the woods in my grandparent’s backyard. I loved exploring them. In Northern Ontario there’s so much nature that you couldn’t possibly explore it all without getting lost in its kingdom.
Getting lost in a book, however, is much more enjoyable. You can leave whenever you want and be safe. At least that’s what you think.