Years ago, my little girl said to me that she liked the stories told by her family members at various functions. Whenever we all got together it was a foregone conclusion that memories would be shared with laughter to ensue. Her little sister and her cousins all agree. The best part was that I knew exactly what she felt. My cousins and I all felt that same envy, to share a story that cracked an entire gathering. So, I suppose it’s a family trait.

I have always aspired to write a book, for as long as I’ve been able to spell.  Early attempts looked more like comic books because I couldn’t imagine books without pictures inside of them. I attempted more than a dozen stories since high school and even though I felt I could pen a tale as well as most of the books I’ve read, I never had the focus to complete the seemingly insurmountable task of writing a whole book from beginning to end. I misplaced folders and searched for reasons to quit or would just lose interest in the topic altogether.

I remember making myself promises to publish something, anything, by my eighteenth birthday. Then, when that didn’t happen, by my twenty-first. Twenty-fifth. Thirtieth. Fortieth. And one day I realized I was too old and set in my ways to try, but I still believed it was possible. I made a vow to my God, if you see fit to bless me one more time with an interesting story, I will follow it through to until the end. It would take a combined 7 years on and off again, but I did it. And the pride I feel is immense. My desire to share my project is fueled by my need to testify that God placed a muse in my life to help push me to finish my first completed novel, “A Necessity, Like Laughter.”