I started writing when I was about 12 years old. My father transferred me to Berkeley Institute (a prep school in Brooklyn’s Park Slope) in the middle of the 7th grade in 1977. It was horrible! I was 5’11” and wore a size 11 shoe. I was a painfully skinny, socially awkward and badly dressed only child with a pointed nose that touched my top lip. Good Lord, I was a mess! My mother was mentally ill and unavailable and my father, well, let’s just say he wasn’t a model for successful interpersonal relationships (I really do have to write a story about my parents. It’s best-selling material as sure as I’m standing here).
So I was a loner but thankfully enough I was a loner who loved to read. My father got me my first Agatha Christie novel when I was about 9 years old. That’s right people, I cut my fiction teeth on Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple! Eventually, I had trunk loads mystery novels and Harlequin Romances (don’t judge me!) in my room, under my bed and in my closet. While my unsupervised selection of titles may not have been on any age appropriate reading lists, those books taught me how to feel safe and comfortable with my own company. By the time I got to Berkeley my power reader brain was more than ready to soak up the wealth of classic literature, poetry and critical reading assignments my professors had waiting for me. I had one English teacher though, Mr Edward (or was it William?) Kearns, who was a cranky, abrasive, dismissive and sarcastic eccentric. But I thought he was a treasure and I loved walking into his classroom everyday. He taught me to appreciate a well constructed sentence and to honor the beauty and lyricism of words.
It was in Mr. Kearns’ classroom that I wrote my very first story. I can’t tell you what the story was about (my memory is very swiss cheesy these days) but I can tell you what I felt as I was writing it. Writing that story felt like breath. Air, crisp and cool and warm in my lungs, filling my head, heightening my senses so much so that all I could hear, feel, smell and see was my pen in my hand as it moved across the page.
Yes people…that was good stuff.
Now here we are 38 years later and though I’ve tried other careers and lived other lives nothing has been able to give me the sense of peace and satisfaction and fullness I feel as when I am writing.
For me you see, writing is breath and people, perfectly imperfect people are my favorite characters.
This is such an exciting time!
My short story collection Of Love and Sound Mind” is available on Amazon and I’m so excited to share my work with you.
Grin, life is good…
All content © 2013 Lisa B. DuBois