How Did I Get Here?

"Factiods are like dry leaves on a windy day; ready to blow away with the next lesson to come along. Stories are how knowledge sticks."
I was around five when I started a love affair that would last a lifetime. At least as far as I can remember. Throughout my childhood my mom had been telling me stories. Reading books, making them up, retelling them from memory; she did it all - but it was when I was five that she started me on making them up myself.

We were driving home from a family holdiday, or maybe it was just a long ride in traffic. Either way, my dad was driving an eight-seater van filled with five girls from ages 15 to five and a baby boy and Mom was trying to control the chaos. Preteens can entertain themselves with reading, but five-year-olds need a little more help to refrain from saying "Are we there yet?" every five minutes, so Mom improvised as she always did; she started a story.

The story was about a little boy named Tommy who was five and had a little sister named Nancy about the same age as my baby brother, Peter. I do not remember what the story was about, but I remember asking Mom one question:

"Mom, can Tommy and I be friends?"

"Of course he can be your friend."

Thus began the Phase of the Imaginary Friend. When the other kids on our street weren't available to play, Tommy and I would fend off evil forces from the tree fort in my front yard. When my older sisters weasled their way out of Duplo by killing off the baby zoo animals I had assigned them to play, Tommy would resurrect them and help them overthrow the mean zoo keeper and escape to the wild. It made sense to me that Tommy should have a house and family of his own, so I made one up. I gave him parents with occupations, siblings, and a house that had a long winding banister; ideal for sliding. Many of the details escape me now, but I distinctly remember telling my kindergarten carpool all about him in great detail.

Grade one rolled around, and after a little deliberation, my parents decided to send me to the Waldorf School. Waldorf education focuses on the role of imagination in learning and development, and as a result, storytelling was an essential part of my grade school education. I attended the school for nine years, and along the way, fell in love with storytelling. The assignments I'd complete such as write the story of Eros and Psyche or write and illustrate a story about your favourite animal enthralled me. With the same panache I delved into reading. I would devour books and get wrapped up in them. Not surprisingly, my deep love of stories caused me to choose my future career from a very early age. If there was one thing I wanted to do with my career, it was write my stories in full length book format.

As I grew up, my passion for storytelling grew. Fiction writing was what I did for fun, and my love of stories morphed into all my other passions and hobbies. I became obsessed with the study of art history because it lets me explore the story behind the work of art, and photography provides the same escape. I religiously read the obits because there is no other place in the media where ordinary lives get to tell their stories.

The summer after I graduated high school, I was visiting my Grannie when she had an idea. As she knew about my obsession, she thought I should follow her example, and start a blog. I was hesitant at first, but before long I was avidly typing my thoughts for the world to read.

Over and over again I've debated as to what my blog is about, and now the answer seems obvious. Most of my writing off this site is the stories I make up, but this place is devoted to my stories and my life as it unfolds.

From a high school grad who thinks she's got it all figured it to a twenty-something who sometimes has no idea, these are the stories of my ordinary life, and the funny things along the way.