I’ve decided to give a bit of background on my journey to  becoming published.


 First let  me say that my editor has told me that the reason I can write is because I am a
natural story teller. I come up with an idea and let the voices lead me along  the road to completion. She has also told me that the reason I can knock so many  storylines out so quickly is because I do not know what I’m doing. Let me  explain: unlike most in the writing field, it was not always my goal to become a  writer. Sure I dabbled in poetry, wrote letters and even wrote some newsletters  for several volunteer organizations I was involved in, but that is really as far  as it went.


One day out of the blue I told a friend, who was not in a   happy place, that I was going to write her a happy ending. What I thought would  be a short story soon took on a life of its own and Amber’s Eyes, which was the  “working” title to Tears of Betrayal was born. While I knew I needed help in the  punctuation department I felt it was a really good story. It was the first time  I thought “wow; I need to see about getting this published.” That leap from writing to being published took me twelve years!


I tried to find friends to edit it (please do not do  this) and I even hired an editor (off of Craig’s list who took my money and  never edited the novel, so please DO NOT do that either!) I also contacted a  real editor who told me I would need to edit my book before she could edit it.
She told me I was a natural story teller but I needed help with the sentence structure and mechanics. I was then really confused, wasn’t this what editors  do?


I finally decided I would self publish my book but how  could I self publish a book when I didn’t have an editor? The last thing I  wanted to do was send an unedited manuscript out into the world. It was all so  very frustrating. My prayers were finally answered when I found my publisher,   Koehler Books. Not only did they do traditional books but they also offered a
  publishing package. Some people refer to this as vanity publishing; I call it   an answer to a prayer. If I was going to spend the money to publish it anyway,   why not use that money and have someone who knew what they were doing do it for   me? Not only that, but in the process I would get to work with a “real” editor   and have a “real” book.


While few in the industry condone this, I am not the  least bit sorry that I took this route. In the process of getting published I  was able to meet and work with Michelle Johnson, a wonderful editor whom I still   work with to this very day. I hired Michelle to edit my second novel, The Scars   Between Us, and after doing so, the novel was picked up by Koehler Books as a   traditional book deal with no cost to me. 


Michelle has also edited two of my children’s books, the   first of which is due out next month and she and I are currently working on the revisions of my third novel.


I am a good story teller. I have wonderful muses. I have  six manuscripts in various stages of completion, with ideas for at least as many   more beyond that. I also know I am still learning my craft and that I need to   work with an editor to help me polish it to where my audience will enjoy   reading it without picking it apart. I am grateful to John Koehler for giving   me my start. I am also grateful for Michelle Johnson and her continued   patience. She is a wonderful editor and a great teacher and I am so lucky to   have found her and in finding the right editor for me I was able to move from  “self published” to “traditionally published”.


As a published author, I can honestly say I have never   worked so hard in my life. But, I can also say I have never been happier. I am   still learning and I am still writing, my journey has only begun! 

After seeing recent photo of my blinding white legs I  have decided I am in need of a bit of sun on my lower extremities. So for that   reason I have taken to lying out for an hour a day. I have found that if I lay out early in the day it is a bit more tranquil and I can toss around storylines
  in my head. In case you didn’t know a writer is always writing, even when they   look like they are not. 

Today was no different. I was laying there enjoying the suns  warmth when my tranquility was interrupted by the sounds of the neighbor’s dog.  “Quiet you beast,” I called from the recesses of my mind. He continued to bark,  and bark, and bark. What an annoying little brute I thought, wishing him to be  more like my Oliver. My good, quiet little boy who was lying at the base of the  shed, quietly willing one of the new little bunnies to come out and play. 
 
Once again the neighbor’s dog started blaring a round of
  woof’s when suddenly I realized that my Oliver, my quiet little gentleman had
  joined in on the tirade. I called to him but he ignored me. This was not like
  him. After several moments and many more woof’s from both sides of the fence I
  decided it was time to investigate. I slipped on a shirt, so as not to frighten
  the neighbors, and made my way to the back of the property.


As I approached the fence Oliver, who until this time had
  played the spectator, grew bold and began lunging at the fence. What had gotten
  the two into such a state, but a tiny little opossum who was clinging to the
  top of the fence, holding on for dear life!


My first thought was to try to help it make it to a
nearby tree. My second thought was to look around for the little guy’s mother as
it was without a doubt too young to be on its own.


As Oliver lunged once more the baby bared its teeth
leaving no doubt that it would use them if further provoked. Gone were the
thoughts of picking it up and helping it along its way. Besides growing up in
the country I have seen the damage these little buggers can do when cornered,
which is why I did not follow my maternal instincts in the first place.



Still I could not just leave it there quaking in its grip
on the fence post. So I reached through the fence and picked up a long, thin,
log from the firewood pile, and was able to maneuver it so that the baby would
take hold of it.


My thought was to get the baby onto the log and then move
  the log close enough to the neighboring tree for it to get out of harms way. A
  plan that worked well for the first few seconds as the opossum decided it would
  much rather be on the high end of the stick, you know the end where my fingers
  were. At that point I had no choice but to quickly lean the log against the
  fence post, which once again allowed the baby to climb up to the top of the
  fence. Luckily though this did take it several posts away from its original
  position, and a bit further from the clamoring dogs, who by now had seemed to
  tire of this game. I retreated to the house, sun and tranquility forgotten, and
  the dogs followed suit. Once again the neighborhood is quiet, and the baby
  opossum has lived to see another day.