Feb. 11, 2014

I’ve always considered myself a reluctant writer. As a young reporter, I could always put off writing my story by having a cigarette – or two or three. But a few years later, when good sense prevailed and I stopped smoking, I lost that handy excuse. I always divided reporters into two groups – those who loved the reporting and those who tolerated the reporting to get to the writing. I loved the reporting and could stretch it out – just one more phone call, I’d tell myself, and I’ll get that piece of information that will lift this story to page one. But adhering to that philosophy often meant that I’d skimp on the time to elevate the writing of the story.

So in some ways, I’m surprised that thirty-some years later, I’m a writer of fiction. I still report, but I’m looking for research that will stretch my imagination and make my story more believable. When I started my novel, Saving Texas, in 2010, I wasn’t sure I would have the patience to finish it. But I had a tale that I wanted to tell and I knew that if I finished, I’d get that wonderful feeling I knew as a journalist – not the thrill of writing, but the satisfaction of having written.

I plan to blog every Monday, or more, if the spirit moves me – about writing, reading and other stuff that interests me. I may come to the table reluctantly, but I’ll leave with the satisfaction – even if it’s just a few paragraphs – of having written.