From an early age, I loved reading. For me it was an escape from people and as we like to say, having to do people things. I was always a shy person, so hanging out with other kids, making friends, or talking with strangers was never something I was good at. Even having family time could be overwhelming and I would often retreat to the sanctuary of my room.
Of course when you are young you don’t get to choose what books you own and how often new books were added to the collection. During the school year we received points for reading and taking tests to ensure you understood what you read. It never took very long for my teachers to realize that reading wasn’t something I had to be coaxed to do and my goals for the quarter were often what other kids would consider out of reach.
I remember it was my 3rd grade year when one of my brothers let me borrow a book he owned. Being 8 years older than me, he had far better books than I had access to at school. It was a Dragonlance book. It sucked me into a whole new world, one of fantasy and knights and dragons. One where a god could walk among men and guide them down their right path. I brought the book to school one day, and after reading the library book for a bit, I switched to this one. My teacher encouraged me, and told me that I could read books that weren’t in our program (the ones with the tests), and that he would ask me questions about them and give me points. My reading and my escape from reality came even more regularly.
By junior high I was bringing a book with me to every class. When I was done with my work, I would read. Even if there was only a couple minutes of class left. Often during English when we were reading a book I would read that book all in one night so I could focus on the book that I wanted to read. I remember I could read a 300 page book in as little as a day as long as I was left alone.
While most kids were spending time with friends, or watching movies, I was reading. Talking about things like playing a game or what they were going to do after school or where they went during the summer was not something I wanted to do. Small talk to this day is something I struggle with. Don’t get me wrong, I have learned to adapt for the most part, but I don’t seek out that talk. I would rather sit quietly and read a book than discuss if it is going to rain or discuss that we need the rain. Rain isn’t something I can control, and it isn’t something that will really affect what I do, well aside from being able to read without feeling guilty about it.
Somewhere around 5th or 6th grade I got a computer for my room. I would spend hours typing up short stories. Creating my own realities and worlds that existed only for me. I never showed anyone those stories and often deleted them after I wrote them. They were just for me. Still to this day I make up stories, only now it isn’t typically written on my computer. Now they are more real life based. Before I have to have a difficult conversation I will practice it a million times over coming up with what the other person’s response is likely to be, how I would respond to their response, until I have a million versions all mapped out in my head.
When I don’t have a conversation I am practicing for, I create worlds in my head. I used to have a 30 minute drive to work each day and would add a little more to the story. I struggle to fall asleep at night and would add more to the story. If I am watching a movie with someone I will sometimes add more if the movie isn’t something I would normally watch.
It was all of these things, reading, making up stories, all of it that made me think of writing the book that I am currently writing. After all, if I was going to come up with the story anyway, I might as well write it down. I will likely seem less like a crazy person then! Maybe all writers are a little crazy, I mean some of us can create worlds’s so descriptive that people can immersese themselves in the world completely.
