What On Earth Was I Thinking? 

Fall. Orange leaves slick with rain. Winds smelling of winter reminded me that fall was short. 

Writing a book was the last thought in my head. Until I stood in the rain, felt the wet drops touch my cheeks, knew a stirring within me of something wonderful.

Life changed on that dark autumn night when a half moon slipped from behind the clouds. I wanted to write, to let the words rustle through pages of a book as the leaves did in the trees this October night.

Later, there would be time to put fingers to the keyboard, stamps to the envelopes for an agent search. Outlines, revisions, trips to the post office...there were so many steps to take on a path filled with uncertainty.

But I believed I had a story to tell. Characters leaped from my fingertips and took me places I'd never been. Other times I guided them down my own familiar paths.

I have no stories about wanting to be a writer since the second grade. What I really wanted was to direct Busby Berkley musicals but I was in the wrong generation and had zero musical talent. That didn't stop me from trying to organize a somewhat reluctant band of neighbor kids into a swinging version of "When You Wish Upon A Star," complete with star-studded costumes made with old sheets and a box of crayons, eight colors, that we wore down to unusable stubs.

English classes in high school produced stories I hid under the bed. College gave me an enthusiastic teacher who thought I could hang stars in the sky, but it was short-lived. Marriage, eventually a son, and a miniature schnauzer became the focus of my life which I treasure. Those I loved waited with me until that October night when I knew it was time to write.

So when people say, What on earth were you thinking?" I say, "I was thinking about writing a book." And I did.