I lived in my head as a child and still do.  An introvert is what I am, and not a bit ashamed of that.  Like all introverts, I can go days or longer without social contact.  Not that I dislike people, but I am not a “people person” in the sense of needing constant interaction with other human beings.  Nor can I count myself much of a conversationalist, although I can talk your ear off if I’m in the mood, or I can rail from a soapbox if I have a bee in my bonnet.

But, as I said, I have always lived in my head:  reading, imagining, drawing, writing.

However, like most people, I was not encouraged toward self-confidence and self-esteem as a child.  And my insecurities grew as I did.  So, although I drew and wrote when I was in school, I feared to go to college or university or to explore creative pursuits as an adult.  In short, I “got a real job” when I left for the workforce, and I became a secretary.

Nonetheless, I still lived in my head, mostly by reading and watching television or movies and daydreaming.

Eventually, I met a man who encouraged me to give my opinions in conversation.  (Gasp!  A woman having an opinion?!)  He even agreed with me on many issues and deferred to me when, occasionally, my own experience or knowledge exceeded his.  He supported me when I began to try my hand at drawing and sculpture, and he read my stories when I began to write again after decades of avoiding my literary potential.

But though I wrote, I still had little confidence in my capabilities as an author, and less in my ability to attract an audience for my efforts or to gain recognition from agents and publishers.

Then, my husband died, and I drifted emotionally for a time.  For months, I watched the movies and the taped television shows we had enjoyed together and basically spent my waking moments reminiscing and reliving our best times.

Finally, after I had dispensed with the red tape government heaps upon the bereaved, I began to watch comedies to lift my spirits.  Slowly, I began to eat better, think in more positive terms, and even began to write again.

About that time, my sister introduced me to “Outlander” by Diana Gabaldon, and I was hooked.  It fired my imagination to such an extent that not only did I read avidly the sequels and other Gabaldon books, but I sat down one day and began to attempt to write in a similar style.  “The Ghost of the Highlands” was born and my passion for writing kindled.

Nonetheless, I was still loth to attempt to publish my books.  But a friend encouraged me and, while I did not seek an agent or traditional publisher, still too timid to put my work out there, I decided to try self-publishing to see whether anyone would read my work.  It took months to learn the most basic ropes:  how to get an ISBN and how to get my book printed.  But I managed to publish a very small print run of twenty-five copies and presented them to the local library, to a few relatives, and then to a few friends.  Happily, they were well received (despite a significant number of mistakes that had escaped my attention even after literally dozens of readings to edit and correct).

Since then, I have found an online distributor, Draft2Digital, that has helped me to publish digital short stories and larger e-books.  And I continue to learn the craft of making a book people can enjoy, from cover to storyline to introductory blurb.  It’s an ongoing process that includes making a website and posting a blog, as well as continuing to write and edit new stories and to read the work of other authors.

So far, my primary focus remains romance, with adventure a part of the tale.  But, once in a while, it is adventure that inspires me.  Or current events.  Or history.  Or dreams of the future….