Why I became an Indie author: AKA—A timeline of my life and why I’ve decided to pursue my passion.

Well, here we go. This post may not be the most interesting, but it’s one that needs to be done because I would like to share my story with all of you. So, sit back and buckle up buttercup, we’re going for a ride. That was bad, I know, but horrible humor and dad jokes are engrained in my mind.

Now, to start this little—long—post, I’d have to say that my creativity came from the womb. No, I’m not crazy, but my mother used writing as an outlet for herself with all that she went through in her life. I have an older brother and there are thirteen years between us. Needless to say, I was an accident. After trying over the years, two miscarriages, and failures in ‘70s and ‘80s, she and my father gave up. Then I knocked on her door one day she wasn’t expecting; a vacation away from my brother with my dad and she threw up all over the beach. Lovely. Luckily, I found half of the torn paper when she found out she was pregnant with me. Needless to say, she was overjoyed—okay, mildly happy—but thought she’d lose me too. So, during the passing days, she wrote. Anything that came to her mind, her worries, thoughts, concerns, and always detailed how sick she was. Most importantly, she wrote poetry; beautiful, raw words that came within her soul.

Fast forward to after I was born and when I started Kindergarten. I would like to point out that I was a talkative child. So much so that I got in trouble in class numerous times and my brother avoided me like the plague. Now, with my daughter, the curse of being one hundred times worse rings true. My daughter has blessed me with her high-pitched Minnie Mouse voice and when asked “Why do you talk so much?” I receive, “Because mommy, I’m a talkful child.” Help. Me. Send help, please.

Sorry, I got off topic, where was I? Kindergarten! Alright. In Kindergarten—in the 90’s, I can still feel the ruffles from those white, lace socks folded over my ankles—we learned how to write our own neighborhood books. We had to write and draw a ten-page story about our lives, best friends, what we did—you get the picture. I remember writing a story about my best friend Jeffry and how we’d go to the mall every other day with his dog, little sister and parents. Mind you, I had no idea what I was doing. I don’t even know if Jeffry had a dog or a sister, but somehow, in my mind, we went to the mall and bought thousands worth of whatever nonsense came to mind. My teacher had the pages bound professionally and returned them to us in picture perfect quality. I remember how elated I was just to have something I’d written in my hands, tangible and finished, just like the ones in the library. I was bit with a bug of a faraway desire from that moment on. So much so, that I went home that day and started up my own little series: Katy the Duck. A children’s book about my own personal struggles—whatever innocent ones a five-year-old would have—and gave both books to my mom. She was so proud of me that I can still remember the warmth of her arms around me in an encouraging hug. Which, if I am to be honest, was rare. She worked night shift as a nurse and my father was gone most days, so I rarely saw them; unfortunately. And, being raised in an extremely strict, religious household, I wasn’t allowed to do what most other children my age were. So, to have her acceptance and reassurance is something I still hold onto today and try to bestow on my daughter as well.

Too bad I was a bad apple from implantation. The older I got, the worse it became. There was the one time in seventh grade that I wrote a rhyming poem about a perverted flower who spoke about ‘planting his seed’ to all the others in the land. Vulgarity included—thanks dad. THEN, then, I stupidly showed my science teacher because she was cool. Big mistake. I honestly have no recollection of what happened to me, but I can assure you, it wasn’t good.

Who remembers Quizilla before it became whatever the hell this bubblegum, pre-teen bullshit is? When I was 14, I was very enlightened, but a horny teenage girl who was scared to do anything outside of holding hands. So, what does one do when you’re a sexually frustrated teen? Why, you somehow stumble upon porn, (Funny story about that) and you read dirty, “lemon” fanfics of anime you’ve never seen. I was obsessed with Inuyasha fanfiction and, because I wasn’t allowed to watch the series, I read whatever I could about it. Including the dirty, over the top sex scenes that came with it. Somehow I was so invested and engrossed. Being I’d been writing for most of my preteen life, I wanted to take a stab at it. Out birthed Ivy, her brother T…T something I think it was Tomoe, his mermaid lover. Sesshoumaru and his dead woman Satine. To be honest, I had quite the following after my first full length story about them. Even though it was ridiculous. I wrote this during most of my ninth-grade classes and still, to this day, have to binder full of handwritten pages. There were quite a few sex scenes in there and, being a girl who knew nothing about sex other than what was portrayed on the screen, they were comical. Even more so when my mother found them in my room one day. The hell I put this woman through, without being engaged in the normal threats that parents worry about with their children, was baffling. And, another story. By the way, come March, I plan on posting the cringefest known as “My…something or other…” every Wednesday. Fuck. Me.

Moving on, I want to say that my short-lived career on Quizilla only fueled my desires to keep writing. Especially when fan mail started pouring into my inbox. That’s how I met one of the most influential, beautiful women in this world. Cat. She’s been with me through all of my inner, personal struggles. I lied a lot to this girl in the beginning because, hey it was the internet and I always told myself that I’d never meet her, so what did it matter? (Sorry to her when she reads this.) But, as the years went on, she stayed and stuck to me through thick and thin. Somehow our messages went from discussing this story I wrote and how much she’d loved it to talking on Yahoo! Messenger. As dangerous as the internet was back then, I had found someone around the same age as me who still encourages me today. Someone I feel is my soulmate. This is also the same woman who introduced me to Roleplaying. I was an innocent baby before she turned me over to the crazed life of world building and enacting insane stories that we’d write out for up to fourteen hours a day. Every. Day. For years. In the middle of our own hilarious back and forth, I came up with more ideas and wrote them out. I never shared any of my teenage work to anyone, but her. I was extremely shy in high school, introverted, and I was far more comfortable behind the screen than in person with kids I didn’t understand. I wrote for her because her curse filled rants about the twists and turns I would pull out of my head kept me going. Through everything. She also turned me onto J-pop, K-pop, dramas, Asian culture (other than Sailor Moon), and embracing what I’ve always pushed away. Literally, I could go on for hours about this woman, but I don’t have the patience to detail it all. Just know that after fourteen years of friendship and being for each other through it all. I would never give her up for anything. She’s saved me, helped me, and encouraged me in ways that I am truly unable to put into words.

I didn’t finish high school. A lot of my personal life, choices, feelings, and overall hatred for school drove me to drop out. Though, I received my GED in under two weeks and I was free to try college a year ahead of my class. Sure, I hated all other types of school, but I felt as though college would be different. I loved writing, and though I wanted that to be a career, I felt as though I needed to stabilize myself with a degree. That too was also a mistake. While Cat and my other friends have gone on the traditional route of education and callings, I stalled. I continued to write out of frustration, but I didn’t know where to go in my life. Though, when right after I turned eighteen, I lost myself in video games and MMOs. By nineteen I had met my husband. Twenty we were married. Twenty-one we were pregnant with Lulu. My husband, DJ, encouraged me to return to college, so I did. But, once Lulu was born I finally came to terms with what I always wanted to do. If I couldn’t chase my dreams, how could I tell my daughter the same as she grew up?

I wrote all throughout my pregnancy, just how my mother did with me. Although my mother loved poetry and written word, I am a sucker for a good fictional story of any kind as long as its plausible. I wrote the first book of my first series, and decided that I, like many other aspiring authors, had made a masterpiece; Captivated. Too bad not one agent or publishing house wanted me. I took the hit and ultimately decided on self-publishing. My series did okay, in one four day span I sold about 120 books. Then it fizzled away. I wasn’t prepared and I—foolishly, stupidly, naively; pick one—said I’d publish one book a year. ONE. IN A YEAR. What in sweet hell was I thinking?!

Throughout that time, I was still heavily into roleplaying and I found myself on a little platform called IMVU. That is how I found another person I consider to be one of my closest friends; Madeline. She brought me to a whole different level of storytelling. She’s challenged my ideas and pushed me to be better and in the middle of it all, Dane and Quinta were born. A post-apocalyptic story that is near and dear to our hearts filled with characters we personally love. Some…more than others. I can’t live my life without her and I hope she knows that, no matter how difficult I may be at times. Very, very long story short, she and I embrace the same passion for writing and decided to team up together and bring all of you lovely readers and followers at least four—COUNT ‘EM FOUR—books per year. (Why yes, my brain is mush, thank you for asking.). One will be released faithfully to keep you all entertained and continue on the path of being self-made authors. The people I mentioned are the ones that keep me strong, among others who know who they are. They’ve all encouraged me to keep steadfast on this difficult path I have chosen to walk. Most importantly they’ve helped me accept who I am and who I strive to be. For them, for my daughter, for myself. So, I end this post with a question; What inspires you? #Blog #Hotmess #Author #FollowYourDreams #Writing