My mom told me my first word was “horse” rather than “mama.” That, I believe, was a fabrication – I don’t personally remember – but I was horse-crazy from a very young age. I saved up and bought my first horse when I was 15. Marriage and motherhood caused me to sell my horses when there just wasn’t a spare moment to ride. So I was horseless for about 7 years, but once my girls were getting old enough to ride and we had a home on an acre, it was time to start riding again.
What, you ask, does that have to do with writing? Well, buying horses got me involved with a small horse association. That involvement eventually led to me volunteering to do the monthly newsletter. After so many issues of “winter is here; give your horse more grain,” I grew bored with the non-fiction articles. I started writing more creative filler pieces, like what my filly looked like running through the snow beside her dam. There was something about that regular writing exercise that stirred up a desire in me. I didn’t identify what that desire was for many months, but it was there, all the same.
I few months later, I read an article in the newspaper about a local author who had sold her first romance novel. Talk about stirring up a desire in me. For the first time, I thought of writing as something more than a fun thing to do in private, something just for me. It was possible to write a novel and get it published. The desire began to morph into a dream.