Then I discovered the poems of Sylvia Plath. I read her novel The Bell Jar and my life changed forever. Here was a woman, a girl, who was able to express the way she felt about her life in words AND she got recognition for it. She was a tortured soul, just like me, but she had become SOMEONE.
I had no mentor, but a little flame had been lit deep inside me and it flickered and flared depending on what else was happening around me, but it never went out.
Then in 1983 the band The Smiths hit the world and in Morrissey, I found a soul mate.
I joined a school for writers and suddenly I found myself in an environment where I got credit for my ideas. For the first time in my life I felt I belonged. Over the next five years, I honed my writing skills and wrote two (unfinished) novels. Unfortunately, my day job became more demanding, I had a family and somehow writing was pushed to the back burner. But the flame never went out. I didn’t talk about it much. How could I claim to be a writer if I never actually wrote?
Ten years passed, and an idea for a story appeared in my head. A conversation about a pandemic seminar somehow stuck to a pipe dream I had about self sufficiency. The seed for a book was planted. That seed grew into The Berringer Connection.
I haven’t looked back since.
And now Morrissey has written his own book. I have read it, of course, and I have a secret fantasy that one day he will read one of mine.