Baby Writer â First Launch Tomorrow â¨
I wouldnât actually call myself a baby writer. Iâve been writing since I was in 5th or 6th grade. Yes, really. I was lucky enough to go to a very chill, encouraging school. My teachers pushed us to read, write, and even direct classroom plays. Sometimes weâd split into groups, re-enact stories we just read, and whoever performed best earned grades. It was excitingâand my classmates always picked me as their director or story writer. Looking back, I think thatâs where it all began.
I remember drafting my very first short story called Megan & ___ (ugh, I totally forgot the rest of the titleâlaunching it now!). Since then, Iâve been writing slowly but consistentlyâscribbling mini manuscripts in my notebooks or typing on my old Windows 98 computer, just me killing time in my little world of imagination. My parents had no idea I was writing, haha. I just kept adding whatever I thought was funny, exciting, or cool.
What really inspired me, though, was being an only child. When youâre alone, your imagination has to keep you company. I could say I was quite the imagine queen. One day Iâd be Lizzie McGuire singing This Is What Dreams Are Made Of, the next Iâd be Mary Elizabeth Cepâyes, a total drama queen xD. If I wasnât acting it out, I was writing it down. It always started the same: first a name, then a personality, then making them interact together. It will always, always start with a name for me.
When I first began The Not-So-Boring Adventures of the Starr Sisters, it wasnât even a rhyming book for kids. It was a full-on novel with chapters, and to this day I still plan to publish that novel version. But why did I push for a rhyming childrenâs book first? Because I once told my husband that someday I wanted to read stories I made myself to our future children. And more than thatâI wanted to remember my baby brother Adrienne.
I met him when I was 11. Adrienne was born and pronounced dead. At that time, I wasnât given the space to mourn because, honestly, I didnât even know how. An eleven-year-old doesnât understand death. Why would a baby die without even growing up? What even is death? My mom and dad went home without a child. But what about the clothes we bought? The toys? The plans I overheard? I carried him to his grave in a small box, saw his faceâhis beautiful, beautiful face. Looking back, I realize I didnât understand anything.
Now at 30, married, and far from home, I still wonder: what do I really understand now? Maybe just thisâthat I wrote my first complete story for myself, and for my baby brother Adrienne. I often think about what it wouldâve been like if Adrienne had grown up with meâwhat kind of sister I would have become, and what kind of brother he would have been.
Maybe it wouldâve been like Haven and Carleina. I see myself in Carleinaâworried, caring, loving. And Adrienne? In my imagination, heâd be super naughty and boyish. Just like Haven.
And tomorrow, this story finally takes flight. đď¸â¨
