When I was six years old, I decided I wanted to be a writer.
This was by way of being my third option in life. You see, my first option, was to be a cat, specifically one of my grandmother’s pet cats which got to boss the entire house around and got the best food and did nothing but sleep all day.
It was a terrible day when I found out I couldn’t be a cat. However, that very day — I was about three, I think — I set my mind on becoming the next best thing: an angel.
I’d seen pictures, and I knew angels had it all: the fancy gowns, the golden curls and WINGS.
Wings were very important. They meant I could fly over certain kids in the neighborhood, who were — shall we say — less than enthusiastic with my awesomeness, and drop stuff on their heads. I had a list of things I could drop on their heads, including but not limited to bags of mud.
When I told my mom my career plans, she looked puzzled, then explained to me that to become an angel you had to die and, at any rate, given my general behavior, I was not likely to become an angel. Or at least not one with the nice, white gown and the fluffy wings.
So, by six I’d missed out on my two preferred careers and I had to settle. I decided — grudgingly — that since I couldn’t be either a cat or an angel, I’d be a novelist. I’d be rich and famous and have people fawning on me. The whole world would hang in suspense waiting for my next book to come out!
This time it worked. Well, sort of. It only took me twenty mumble years to get published, and there are some fans who swear they’ll hold their breath and/or come over and hold my cats hostage if I don’t bring out their favorite book by a certain date.
The rich and famous are still sort of a work in progress.
However, I figured if “all” I was going to be was a writer — sorry guys, it still doesn’t compare to a cat in sheer awesomeness — then I was going to write bit of everything.
So I write science fiction and fantasy and historical and even historical mystery.
Because if I can’t be a cat or an angel, I’m going to be Super Writer!
*Image courtesy of Chris Muir.