You've probably never met a writer who's loved writing since she was a little kid, have you? I mean, no one has had a lifelong passion for writing! That's crazy!
Right. So, I'm a cliche in that regard, and when I inevitably have a book published (because I will, dang it. I will!), that will likely go in my bio, just like it has gone in every author's bio since the dawn of storytelling. (I'm willing to bet Sin-liqe-unninni's bio on the Epic of Gilgamesh says the same thing). And, like so many authors, I write because I can't not write. (In other words, I don't write because I can, as the double-negative naysayers would correct, I write because I must. Double-negatives serve a real purpose, people!)
The first stories I ever wrote were drawings of "The Heart People." I would draw hearts and then give them eyes (and eyelashes, for the ladies) and smiles and stick arms and legs. They were usually going down slides or swinging at the park. I would write six or eight pages on lined notebook paper, tie the pages together through the three holes down the left side, and write "25¢" on the top right corner of the title page. Then I'd sell them to my dad and buy penny candies from the Red Apple or Canadian Grocery (the two stores in my village. Yes, village.).
It was awesome. I was making candy money for something I loved! I was hooked.
As I grew up, I gravitated towards English and writing classes. In college, I switched from English to Philosophy, which included an astounding number of papers and an adherence to grammar and language rules that had been a bit looser in my English classes. Thus was born my obsessive love of grammar (and love of breaking the right rules at the right time. If that broken rule involves a comma and you're not Cormac McCarthy, though, stop it. Stop it right now.).
After college, I always had at least two or three story ideas bouncing around in my head (sometimes as many as eight or ten). On my lunch break at work, I'd often stay at my computer and email ideas and scenes to myself. I played around with a few of my ideas, but they were total turds. Unreadable turds. Then, one day, I had an idea that I thought was THE ONE. I spent six years drafting and researching and world-building and writing this YA fantasy trilogy, then slashing and rewriting and re-revising it. I even queried it to about 25 agents, had a couple of requests for partials, and won a "First 250 (words)" contest. My beta readers loved the first book, and I loved the series more than I could handle.
Which is how I knew I had to let it go. When people gave me suggestions, I'd roll my eyes, sure they just didn't get the story. When someone mentioned a failing in my main character (who is totally, unequivocally, nerdfully me), I'd get mad.
So I had to move on.
And I've been happy about my writing life ever since. I blog with the clever, talented, fantastic Mormon Mommy Writers. I completed two novels last year, including one for NaNoWriMo. I have a completed novel that made it to the agent round of Pitch Madness and had six requests, and I've had a couple of other requests from other avenues. I haven't formally started querying yet, but I feel incredible about this new book. And I feel incredible about my (still unedited) NaNo novel, and...hopeful about my current WIP.
I have no idea what will come of any of my works. I'm optimistic that I'll find an agent and publish eventually (but that could very well be the famous family hubris talking). Ultimately, though, it doesn't matter if I publish or not. I write because I love thinking about the world in a different way. I love helping my characters find themselves, a love interest or two, and the best pizza in their city. I love exploring my deepest emotions and processing them on paper (or a laptop) for the world to see...or not to see. It doesn't really matter.
I'm addicted.
So, hello. My name is Katy, and I'm a writer.
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