The humiliations of my youth and why I'm thankful for them.

Hello friends, old and new,

Over the years I've learned many truths. But, the ones that have helped me through the most trying times in my life is that no matter how bad things may seem, tomorrow has the potential of being a much better day, so don't give in and don't give up. Another of those truths is the old saying, "Every gray cloud has a silver lining," is more true than we can possibly imagine.

As you can see the title of my new blog is Writing Is My Passion. In all honesty, it hasn't always been that way, which is why the subtitle of this post is Humiliations of My Youth and Why I’m Grateful For Them.

I grew up in this tiny little town in Indiana called Freedom. (It's about ten miles from another small town, though larger than Freedom, called Spencer, which is about fifty miles south of Indianapolis.) We lived on a small farm in Freedom and my first experiences with school was in a classroom that accommodated first through the fifth graders. In total, I think there might have been a dozen children in that class. 

I’d gone through first and second grades at Freedom school. However, when I was ready to begin third grade, Freedom had consolidated with Spencer and I, and my sisters and brother, were to ride the big yellow bus that would drop us at the door of our new school.

Unfortunately, due to the difference in curriculum, I’d had to take second grade over again. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I was told it was something I had to do. As a child, we do what we’re told whether we understand it or not.

That, I was soon to learn was not going to be the only embarrassing issue I would have with my new classes. By the time I finally passed to the third grade, I was informed that I needed “special reading comprehension tutoring,” or I’d have to be held back yet again.

How much more humiliation was I supposed to endure? I wanted to hide from everyone because of my stupidity.

Now, let me be clear about something just so there’s no misunderstanding. My parents never read to me when I was a child. Being raised by my grandparents, whose old-fashioned ideals included that teachers were paid to teach, believed that reading to children was not their responsibility.

Please understand, these were my grandparents' views and not my own. I have the greatest respect for teachers and feel that parents MUST get involved as much as possible with their children's education. Teachers are woefully underpaid and underappreciated for the work they do.

But, I digress. I withstood the humiliation of going to the “special reading classes” and was duly chastised and laughed at by my peers. (Children can be merciless.) From that time until I hit Junior High, which is now called Middle School, I’d learned to hate reading and, when I could get away with it, refused to do it even if it meant not completing my homework. I did love music and poetry, though, and often wrote song lyrics and poems to help me escape from many of my puberty-induced, emotional upheavals.

However, when I hit seventh grade, my best friend introduced me to the forbidden fruit in the form of the latest Harlequin Romance novel. It had been a gift and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I didn’t have many friends to begin with and I didn’t want to make the one I had angry.

So, I read it . . . and it opened up a whole new world for me. The next time my English teacher gave us a reading assignment, it was Ray Bradbury’s, The Illustrated Man. Another door had just been blown off its hinges for me!

By the time I reached my junior and senior year, I’d begun writing short stories and taking creative writing and journalism classes. I’d fallen in love with reading. I wanted to learn how those authors created the stories that grabbed me, refusing to let me go until I’d read that last page, and left me wanting more. I’d even had one of my own short stories published in our high school newspaper.

I was hooked. It was my crack. I wanted, no, I needed more.

I started to devour everything I could find. By the time I’d graduated from school I’d extended my reading list to not only include romance but horror such as Stephen King’s Carrie and Dean Koontz’s Twilight Eyes. As I grew older and bolder, I expanded to other genres and authors like Clive Cussler, Dan Brown, David Baldacci, James Patterson, Sandra Brown, Linda Howard, Nora Roberts and the list goes on and on.

So, here I am, authoring my own novels. It wasn’t an easy feat as you can see, and I’ve had to overcome some difficult situations. But the point is, I did it. As I stated in the first paragraph, just because your situation may look bleak now, tomorrow will be a brighter day! So, don’t let the rain wash away your dreams, let it water them until they bloom into a glorious garden of possibilities.

In my next blog, I’ll be sharing some of my experiences from my first venture into self-publication of my debut novel, Secrets in Bethlehem.

(Spoiler alert: It was just one more mortifying lesson that I’d had to learn the hard way.)

If you would like to share some of your experiences in writing, or reading, I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.

Thanks and have a great day!