by Robin Layne
I’m not sure there was one moment in
my life when I realized I would be a writer. I think it was close to a destiny
I always knew. Stories were important to me from the beginning. I loved the
picture books my mother read to me. I acted out fairytales for family members and
friends, like “The Three Bears” and “Cinderella.” In kindergarten, our class made a book of
pictures by each pupil; accompanying the drawings were short pieces of writing we
had dictated to the teacher.
In first and second grade, we wrote
stories and illustrated them on big-ruled sheets of paper. Our teachers gave us
really creative prompts, and I think I got into more detail than the other
kids, careful to include a logical beginning. In second grade I stayed in
recesses to make my first picture book.
I was teased a lot by my schoolmates,
and it cut me deeply. My family was unsympathetic to my complaints about it. I
told myself that when I grew up I would be a famous artist and writer. Then
those who had hated me would read about me in the newspapers and be story. I
would show them I was better than a misfit crybaby, and better than all of
them.
In third grade, I used to go visit
my second grade teacher. I told her I was going to be an author. She pinched my
cheeks and said, “Write children’s
books.”
Sorry, Mrs. Palermo. My interests
are broader, and I don’t pander to your expectations. I write what inspiration
leads me to, not what one set age group dictates.
When I was still a child, it would
take me hours to get to sleep, so I would make up novels in my head. Now I find
that I can’t carry whole scenes in my memory for long without writing them down.
Although I still do a little art for
my own pleasure, most of my art is to help me picture the characters in my
stories or to design possible covers for the books. The “famous artist” part of
my ambition has pretty much fallen by the wayside, leaving me more time to
write. I’m driven to imagine things, get them into words, and share them with others. Fame
is slow to come by and not a need anymore. I’m famous to God. But I would like
to produce published books. And I want to make a living on my writing!
I get the impression that most
people think writing like mine is play and that I should spend my time doing
more “important” things. Writing is
enjoyable for me, but it also requires a lot of time and effort. Most of the
markets out there pay nothing, and
another large percentage pay a only a handful of dollars, I suppose for the
purpose of saying you’re “paid.” Some writers (I don’t think I know any of
them) make their living writing articles, but the really creative stuff doesn’t
provide a living except to the rare superstar author. What are our values?
I write because I love stories. I
write because the Lord I love is the Word. God made me in His image. And He is
the Creator. So I am a creator, too.
