My grandmother wrote her stories on closet walls. The compulsion to write, to understand, to be remembered is the very heart of a writer. My grandmotherās silence, fueled by the shame of being an illegitimate child, closed a door on the truth that I will never be able to open.
There is nothing I love more than losing myself in a good book-it began with Beverly Cleary and all of her Beezus and Ramona books when I was seven. Now I read everything and anything, but I only finish the books that I really love.
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Coming up with an idea for a novel is easy. Novel writing is like running. It hurts for a long time, and then, suddenly, it doesnāt. And then it starts hurting again, but you go back to it day after day because you must.
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Annie Lauraās Triumph ends with the fictionalized wedding day of my grandparents. In real life, they, too, courted with a chaperone. Their marriage lasted seventy-one years. You can read the fictionalized version of my grandparentsā wedding day in my novel, Annie Lauraās Triumph
Illegitimateāthe stigma my sweet grandmother carried with her for her entire life. Her shame fueled my quest. You can read her fictionalized story in Annie Lauraās Gift and Annie Lauraās Triumph. #annielauratrilogy#historicalfiction#booktok#authorsofx#WritersOfX
I didnāt set out to be a writer. But, since I was in the fourth grade and wrote the class play, I have always written. Plays, poems, the beginnings of diaries. I think writing is like the house you live in and the wand you make magic with in Harry Potterās world.
It chooses you.