All in Good Time

While I always wrote for my own enjoyment, writing didn't become a priority in my life until I was well into my forties.  I started blogging at forty three, did my first NaNoWriMo at forty four, and became a newly minted Writers Village University member at forty five. Although slowly advancing towards my goal, I still struggled to find my "voice."

I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I left it all too late.

Then, on a hot, sunshiny July afternoon, I had a revelation while out doing doing errands on my lunch break. Since I very rarely get out on my own, without the kids, I drove through town seeing it as if it were an old friend I hadn't run into in awhile. I took my time, enjoyed the scenery, checked out what was new. Everywhere I looked reminded me of some incident, misadventure or memory.

Over here is where the angry pink haired lady with all the dogs lived, and look, there goes the one-armed oven repair man who fixed my stove! 

After about the fifth "Oh gee, remember when" moment, the light bulb finally went on: My bi-cultural, stranger-than-fiction life is the stuff that stories are made of, literally.  I realized I am not a writer in spite of  the other things I did over the past twenty years, I am a writer because of them. These experiences will color my plots, brings realism to my settings and breathe life into my characters.

I still have a lot to learn about the craft of fiction writing, but I don't worry anymore that I left it too late. In fact, I think I might be right on time.