In May of 2009, I sat down and for the first time in my life, seriously set out to write a book. Before that day, I had started books here and there. Wrote a few chapters, gotten bored with my characters, or life and its infinite interruptions had gotten in the way. But ever since I read my first Anne Rice novel when I was 14, I KNEW that one day I would write a book. And that I would be a published author. It was only a matter of time…or timing. When I was ready, when the book within me was ready, it would happen.
Well, the years passed, and that book never saw completion. As I neared the big three-o, panic set it. My life was ending (as it does when you’re about to turn 30) and I knew I better get to fulfilling my dream before the apocalypse. Or my first gray hair. They’re the same thing, really.