As a young child, as far back as my memory goes, I made up stories to keep myself occupied and hopefully out of trouble (uh, the staying out of trouble part rarely worked). My mind was always churning out stories to entertain me.

When I was in fourth grade, I got tired of all the bad grades for my penmenship on an otherwise perfect grade card. So I began to practice my writing. What else could I write but the stories going through my head? In the evenings, after all the chores of farmlife were done, Granny, my mom and I would sit by the wood burning stove. Granny would sit in her rocker and she would read outloud to Mom and me. She read first from the Bible and then from a book (Lena Rivers and the Little House books were our favorites) and sometimes she would read one of my stories.

In high school most of the teachers said I should write and I thought, "Write?  Whatever would I write about?" And I continued through school and went into marriage. I still wrote my stories down in longhand and stored them away, occassionally taking them out to read, make a few changes and store again. I got busy having and raising a family and didn't give much thought to my stories. They were a relaxing escape for me, when the kids were asleep and all the chores were done.

A couple of years ago, my husband came into the room where we set up the computer and saw me typing away on a story (one I had lost when the hard drive crashed). He often tells people I have a whole universe inside my head. He asked me why I didn't do anything with them. I didn't know who would want to read them besides me. He double dog dared me to send one in to an editor. Who can resist a double dog dare? Not me, so I sent that one in. . .and I have been learning ever since.

I am not published yet, but I will be in God's good time. It is for His glory that I type. He has called me to this duty and I love it. I can't NOT write because it is a part of me.