WHY I WRITE...



Many writers will tell you that they have been writing for as long as they can remember. I am no different. So what drives that passion? Is it nature or nurture? I am sure it is in my nature to write, but there is nurture in it too, and to me, that is more interesting. That is why I’d rather tell you Why I write

...WHAT I WRITE



I discovered the romance of story telling because of the way I grew up. I can thank my parents for nurturing in me a healthy curiosity for everything around me, whether natural or human made.

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For my family, vacations meant loading the six of us into a pickup truck and camper and hitting the road for whatever adventure awaited in the great outdoors. Every summer saw us roaming the mountains, four kids, two dogs, and a set of parents who let us discover the world and its wonders by running wild in it. We camped, backpacked, hiked, rafted--anything that took us off the beaten path and into the wild was fair game.

When I was nine we spent a whole summer climbing around the rocks and hills of Canyonlands National Park in Utah, exploring the ruins of ancient peoples. I came home and decided to become an archaeologist.

When I was eleven we drove from Colorado to northern Canada to float down the Yukon River in a rubber raft. Along the way we explored beached paddle boats, camped in homesteaders’ cabins, and saw grizzly bears the size of--well, really big grizzly bears! When we got home at the end of the summer, I wrote my first novel.

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So why do I write what I do? I think those trips awoke my curiosity and interest in the world, but there was one other thing about them that made me a writer. In the days that my family drove all over the continent in our big green truck and camper, there were no DVD players in the car (heck, there were no DVD players at all, although we did have a nifty eight-track tape player!) And believe me, driving from Colorado to Alaska is a lot of hours in the car! I spent those hours looking out the window and daydreaming, and that may be where my writing really began. In my head, in our car, in the world.


I don’t know if my parents ever had any idea how many adventures they started with their adventures. It wasn’t just the ones we lived ourselves, but the ones that filled my imagination, and still do to this day.

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