The other day, my dad popped the question. “When did you start liking to write?” It’s no wonder he wasn’t sure – I didn’t even know! The last thing I can remember writing is a novel version of ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ when I was nine. And after that, it was Ice Age (in which I oh-so-cleverly decided to call the long-nosed dinosaur-giraffe-hippo-creatures ‘wumples’ because I was just oh-so-creative) and then… nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. For a looong time. I can, however, remember the first story that really and truly entranced me. It was the story of Sir Rolande, a young prince’s beautiful black rocking horse who came to life every night. I loved to read that story, and I would read it – and read it – and read it – and read it. And then I found a book at the library about another horse figurine that came to life – and so, I decided to write a story! About?
A horse figurine that came to life! And so, ‘The Pegasus on the Mantle’ was born – a full page and a half of what started my writing lifestyle. I submitted the story to Girls Horse Club under the name ‘Angelica’ and forgot about it… only to see, a few weeks later, that I’d won the contest! I wrote another story. And another. To my surprise, girls really liked my stories, and the name ‘Angelica’ became pretty well known among the online horse-loving thirteen-year-old-girl group. I wrote storie and poems and they pretty much won every time I submitted them (yoicks, that sounds vain) and I got so much encouragement that I thought “Why not write something longer?”
I jump-started several books, but none of them really clicked until The Shadows Fall when I was fourteen. Granted, I had just watched/read the Lord of the Rings books and the Door Within trilogy by Wayne Batson, and so my poor little novel was basically a big bundle of ripoffs. But then I rewrote it. And rewrote it. And rewrote it. And somewhere, beneath the dross of plagiarism, was a novel. And I loved that novel. I loved every noble character and hated every villain, and as we all know, love is what it takes to bring characters to life.
And now here I am, with more characters than I can count in five minutes, more stories running through my head than I can count in half an hour, and more life inside my brain than I care to document here and now because I haven’t got the time and the computer hasn’t got the gigabytes. I love it, but I certainly never thought that one little page-and-a-half story would turn into my life.
So, I guess you could say, it all started with Roland. Thank you, Roland. I owe you a lot. I’m going to go find you and read you again for old times’ sake, and probably cry again and love you even more.