The Late Night Blog Post


I had a crazy day… I got a lot accomplished, very little of it writing related.  I spent my evening doing that.

My random thought for the day was this though:  If armadillos would take up “power walking”, fewer of them would be road kill.

I was asked today, “Why did you want to become a writer?”

Interesting question.  I don’t think I ever “wanted” to become a writer.  I wanted to be Indiana Jones for a few years.  Then I got interested in serious archaeology and wanted to do that.  I settled and became a historian.  That’s what I “wanted” to be when I grew up… A Historian.  And I am.

I was always a writer though.  I have always wrote or at least composed stories in my head.  Before I started putting words to paper in my childhood, I told myself bedtime stories.  Just before my teen years began, I started putting words on paper, not just telling myself bedtime stories, but telling stories on paper for anyone to read.  This meant my friends and my parents, but hey, an audience is an audience.  And guess what?  I was still telling myself bedtime stories well into my teens.

However, after graduating high school, I progressed from writing short stories for my friends to writing novels for my friends.  And if I still had all my work from those years, I would have a couple dozen novels and literally, hundreds of short stories.

Now, I am a writer, a salesman of fairy tales with dark endings and gory middles and bizarre beginnings.  I’m still not sure I “want” to be a writer or a novelist or a purveyor of the written word…  But I am one.  However, it was never a goal or an aspiration.  It was just something I did.  It is still something I do, but my audience has moved from parents and friends to something larger.

And guess what?  I still tell myself bedtime stories.

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