I grew up in a typical, dysfunctional home like most people.  My parents, although still married, lived apart; and when my dad came home on an occasional weekend, he could suck down six Moosehead beers before noon.  Hiding in my room or taking off on my bike for a long scenic tours of downtown Hesperia (population 3548) was the only way to avoid conflict. 

I didn’t like conflict. 

In my room time, I filled journal after journal of stories and poetry.  Of course, when I moved out on my own, most were lost or destroyed.  Lacking direction for my life, I failed out of college and flopped around for a few years.  I guess you could say I broaden my horizons with a few odd jobs.  Some were a lot of fun.  I remember working at the Ski Shop in Wrightwood where I met a lot of cute guys, but in the end, the cost to drive up and what they paid me, wasn’t cost-effective.  So I ended up where I started, back as a waitress at Red Robin.  I’m not sure how many times I left, only to come back again.  But I have to say, I met some great folks and had some fun times. 

It wasn’t long at Red Robin before I tended the bar.  I suppose that’s when I started going down the same path as my dad.  Drinking after work, hitting the karaoke bars, driving home barely able to see the road, and sleeping until two in the afternoon.  Funny how fast these things come and you don’t even realize the danger you put yourself in and call it ‘a good time.’  I was chasing my tail with no real direction, but I was living carefree and who cares.

My life changed when I met Tim.  A Christian most of his life and determined to show me a different way of living.  I like to say Tim changed my life, but it wasn’t him.  God was using him to get to me.  To tell me I care about you and want better for your life; and although he’s been pursuing me all my life, finally, I was listening.

Now God really does work in mysterious ways and until recently, I knew where my place was.  My service, my husband, my children, my household; all my duties as a housewife, was very clear until my youngest child started school full-time.  It was then I felt the calling that had always been there before and I thought about those journals I wrote in so long ago.

That’s all it took and before I knew it, I was staring at 70, 000 + words and a completed novel.  That was May of 2009.  Since then, I’ve completed two more novels, had a few published articles, one short story up for publication the end of this year, and now waiting to hear if a magazine (distributed in churches, Christian schools and colleges) will be published the end of this year. 

This has been an interesting journey to say the least.  My father still drinks, and my mother is in a cult, but I keep a relationship with them regardless.  My point to my story is that it doesn’t matter where you come from, or the obstacles that get in the way.  I’m turning forty this year and although I sometimes wish I would have started this writing journey earlier, it’s never too late to follow your dreams and you’re never to old to accomplish them.