Monday, June 3, 2013


If you checked in with Sportster's blog, Sportster's blog  you know we’re heading out for our second annual Santa Barbara Writers Conference.

 A year ago we were only a blip on the author grid. I was nervous, excited, in awe, did I mention in awe? I attempted to attend every seminar, panel, and pirate workshop. I listened, read, wrote and even spoke on a panel. What an unforgettable experience. I met agents, writers, publishers and made unusual friends I will never forget.

I was validated and encouraged by my peers while they impressed and humbled me with their talent. I collapsed every night with words of literary wisdom swirling in my brain waiting in anticipation to be applied a page.

And now the journey begins again. Can you guess? I am nervous, excited and in awe once again. The anticipation pulses even higher because I know what lies ahead - opportunities to enhance my writing skills, make new contacts, and renew old friendships.
How did it all happen? My profession has been grooming dogs since I was eleven years old. When did I develop a talent with the pen as well as the scissors?
As a child in sneakers, I wrote in the closet. Perched on a stool, hunched over my diary, a small lamp illuminating my dreams, I wrote my secrets. What they were, I don’t recall but writing was like talking to a best friend that I didn’t have. The skirts and coats hung around me like drawn curtains hiding me from the outside world. I was safe with my secrets.

But it began before then - this ride down literary lane. It began with my mother, who was a true seeker. Liberated during WWII while Dad was away, Mom ran the household even after he returned. She managed their apartments and became a real estate broker. She trained her two daughters in the ways of independence and she wrote children’s’ stories in her spare time.

Digging through a trunk filled with sepia memories, locks of hair and death certificates, I discovered The Redbird Stories by Wilma Holvey. Reading her words etched on the onion skin paper by her Smith Corona typewriter, produced visions of my sister and I snuggled up under each of her arms as she read her creation. The stories gave me a new understanding and connection to my mother. She, too, was an aspiring author, and so I have inherited the words that run in my blood.

I won’t be alone in Santa Barbara.

1 comment:

  1. It's a scary journey you are on, pursuing your dreams and talent. We often are the last ones who believe in ourselves, hanging on to what ever morsels of encouragement are tossed our way. Stick with it - keep on keeping on! You are a motivation to those of us still hiding in the closets writing away.