I was NOT the kid who always wanted to be a writer. In fact, I denied that skill was in my toolbox. I read a ton growing up, and in elementary school I organized a neighborhood newsletter. It was just as bad as you might suspect. My dad would always tell me that I would be a good writer but I just scoffed.

No no no. Writers are bearded recluses. Writers have beach cottages where they drink coffee and use typewriters all day. I didn’t have any ideas and was a reader, not a writer.

I went to college, and in a beginning English class discovered I was actually pretty good at reading, critiquing and writing papers. I got a Bachelor’s degree in English, thought about going into academia professionally and got a Master’s degree. But all the while still not totally sure what I was doing.

Periodically ideas for stories would pop into my head …. and I let them go. I was not a writer. I was not a filmmaker. There was no reason for me to write down those ideas.

But this one particular idea would not go away. It hung around and developed and matured and kept poking at me.