I am a non-fiction and fiction writer, although most of my stories are at least based on real events. Even most of my children’s stories have basis on real life experiences. Recently I’ve started my journey to learn the art of public speaking.
I am a survivor of child and domestic sexual violence, I attempted suicide more than one time and I have Rapid Cycling Bipolar disorder. Then there’s the family drama, all gives me unending writing fodder.
My mother’s running joke in our family was that one of us should write a book about our family, but no one would ever believe it is a true story. Well Mom, I’ve done that and more. I’ve written down our dirty and clean laundry for all to see.
My current project is my memoir, “The Path Taken.” I’m trying to find the best way to share my memories but do no harm. I want my friends and family to know these are my memories and interpretations of events. After all a memoir is by definition the author’s memories not necessarily absolute facts. I do not set out to blame or hurt only to tell my story in hopes that someone somewhere may benefit from mine and my family’s experiences.
I have been storytelling most of my life and writing for about forty years. I never let anyone read anything I put on paper, that was for my eyes only.
My first real storytelling started at age nine when my first niece was born. The stories evolved through the years, but the titles and seedlings of them remained. The children I sat for, my own children and grandchildren grew up. They didn’t need my silliness anymore, or so I thought.
Some time ago I was at a family get together and to my surprise was asked to tell my stories. I didn’t realize they had been passed down to the children and grandchildren of the kid’s I made them up for.
Still I gave no thought to writing them down. Until this little cutie pie (about 4 years old) climbed into my lap and wrapped his little arm around my neck. He got all cozy and said “Aunt Nora I can’t find your stories in the library or the book store. Can you please give me some? I want my teacher to read my aunt Nora’s stories to my class.” His little face got so sad when I told him they didn’t exist. He was quiet for a bit then said “That’s ok you can send them to me when you get ink in your printer.”
So from the innocent thought process of a child my desire to be published was born.