I wrote a book. I wrote a book of stories. I wrote a book of stories about history. I wrote a book of stories about the history of Columbia County, NY. This book's stories are beautiful and bizarre. Above all, these stories are true. I want to say I loved writing this book.
Let me go back to the time when I was eight years old. Without my mother's knowledge, in the summer without a lot to do, I did something indulgent. At this moment I can't remember what magazine it was, but in the magazine was a book club, and I signed up for one of those mail order book deals. It was impulsive, I admit it, because at the time I didn't have a way to pay for the books that would soon be coming in the mail. I did it anyway because the idea of it sounded, rather, delicious.
When I was a kid reading was a true joy, an amazing adventure into imagination. It was wonderfully solitary and satisfying. It was private, it was personal, it was something I could do for myself, by myself, without people, without limitations, without interruptions.
The book club sign-up itself gave me a particular thrill, but receiving the book was even more exciting. I remember the first one that arrived. It was a simple little story called "The Mysterious Bender Bones." It featured the private adventure of a young lady turned detective. How fun is that! I read this book under a tree in my back yard. It was hot and muggy in the middle of August. The tree provided shade and solace. I luxuriated in the words. I loved the way my mind completed exited real time and relished the altered reality I had entered. I was living in another world, in another person's life. I was transformed and transported.
Some experiences stay with you. This one did. From that moment on, I decided to be a writer. I wanted nothing other than this. I wrote diaries, and later journals. I wrote letters to people. I wrote poetry, songs, plays. When in school, I wrote essays that captured some attention early on. I felt connected to words. I loved being in the library, near books. I still do.
The years passed. I went to Fordham University as a creative writing major. The work of writing was easy, because I loved it. After college things changed. I took a career path where writing was technical, useful and the pay was good writing press releases, brochures, ad copy, you name it.
My personal writing waned and waxed and didn't amount to too much as I was in a time of my life where acquiring things was important. Then marriage came and went. Then horses came into my life and that love captured my heart, my time.
I ended up moving to the 'country' out of New York City. I found time to write again when I moved there. I published articles on the local people. I wrote a novel (that remains in my computer.) I enjoyed a writer's group.
Then I turned a certain age, and revisited my desire to write a book and see it published. That's today. The Hidden History of Columbia County is now published and selling, I think.... This is a dream, in a way. It was a long time ago that I read that mystery book. I'm so very happy to share this book with everyone. May it bring you joy and fun!