Authors have these memories of how they got started: usually stories of how they wrote as a child–even creating books back then, or receiving awards for a short story in third grade.
Not me.
Oh, I wrote Cub Scout newsletters. Church bulletins. Crafted cute little cards for the kids' grandparents (I thought they were cute!).
Never fiction.
Never short stories.
Until one Sunday afternoon.
I still don't remember what or why I even thought I could write a fiction short story. We still owned a small grocery store and worked too many hours.
Ice Tea on the Model A Running Board
But there I was.
Out in the garage. I wanted to be somewhere outside–it was nice out.
A Sunday I didn't have to work.
I am an introvert, so I remember I didn't want to be seen.
I know. That's really dorky–childish!
So I moved the lawn chair behind some boxes so I could hide, opened the garage door, letting the breeze blow through and sat my glass of tea on the running board of our 1930 Model A.
And wrote my first short story.
I had no idea what I was doing. I just puked it out.
No plan.
No plot.
The title is Running and it has been published in Splickety Magazine.
Who knew?
One of the most satisfying things I've ever done!
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