Christine Tyler is hosting this Blogfest. Hop on over and check her and the other entrants out.
I liked the idea for this blogfest, because I like to talk about what inspires me on a fairly frequent basis. My inspirations are many, but I never actually thought about why I wrote or what that first spark was that set me off. Until now.
I was going to answer the question of what book made me realize I was doomed to be a writer, but I don’t think it was any one book. At least not one that I can remember.
However, I think being the daughter of my mother doomed me. She was one of the smartest, craziest, imaginative people I know.
She was convinced she had been abducted by aliens (or so she claimed. I’m not entirely certain she actually believed this or she just wanted others to believe it).
She convinced me that vampires were going to get me in my sleep if I didn’t cover my neck (I couldn’t sleep for weeks. WEEKS).
She also convinced me that those fence rock wall thingies were Attack Rocks, and if I let them out, they would well, ATTACK ME.
My brother has these two things to say about her, which I have to agree with:
We can’t be completely positive that anything she told us was true, or how much of those truths were fact and how much were fiction.
And, we were too young to fully appreciate her (I was kinda old enough).
I wouldn’t necessarily call her a liar, she just liked to tell stories. Lots of them. The more interesting and unbelievable, the better. And she was very convincing. VERY. Convincing.
Despite having an insane imagination, my mother didn’t write. Aside from telling my brother and I these wild stories, and knowing every single question on Jeopardy, she didn’t do anything with it. We will never fully know the depths of her imagination because for the most part, she kept it to herself.
I write because she didn’t.
I was conditioned from a very young age to be creative (and a huge nerd, but that’s besides the point). My mother not only opened me up to the past, present, and future of our own existence, but the limitless worlds beyond our own. She taught me to transcend the bounds of reality, to imagine worlds far greater, or far worse than the one we live in. Because of her, I spend my days pondering what was, what could have been, what will be. She challenged me to think, to explore, to create. Because of her, I was the girl with my nose stuck in a book.
Because of her I was a princess, a ghost hunter, a witch, a dragonrider, an Amazon queen, a healer, a broadway actress, a pirate, an explorer, a fairy godmother, a tiger, an astronaut, a bird, and an elf all before I hit puberty.
That is why I write. I mean, what else was I going to do with my crazy imagination?
Oh, and if you’re wondering where I got my artistic talent from, that was completely my father’s doing. Thanks dad!
Who, or what inspired you to pick up the pen?