Reading, Writting & Storytelling

As a child who didn't want to learn how to read and whose mother had a hard time to get me through the first grade tutorial book, I can say that just a few years later, I managed to become a real book worm. 

I loved and still love libraries. The smell of the books, the smell of the pages. I could read through the whole night if the book was right and if the story was interesting enough.

I remember the first book that I read all the way through in one sitting - ‘A Rose in Winter’ by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. I read through the whole night. The only light I had was the street light outside my balcony window. I finished it when my alarm clock went off and I had to get ready to go to school. Nice. Being awake all night... I don't need to explain how I felt that day.

During my High School years I tried myself out as a writer. Why? In spite of my teacher who - for reasons unknown to me - hated me for the whole four years. I just prayed to finish High School ASAP to be rid of her. As my writing never satisfied her I started to send my stories to different magazines under a penname. And they were published with quite good reviews.

In my last year of High School I brought home another 'not quite good grade' for my essay. That was enough for my mother. She went to see my teacher - although I asked her not to - and threw some of my published stories on her desk. How she reacted, I don't know. Neither of them said anything to me.

"I don't care what they say about your stories. For me, you don't know how to write!"  That was all I got from my teacher the next day.

OK. That was it. It didn't stop me. I wrote for me. For my soul. And then for my friends, who encouraged me. I contacted some magazines and was published again.

When I met my future husband, he who encouraged me to find a publisher and publish the novels as books. Still I wasn’t sure if I was good enough.

Then one day I got a phone call. It was a lady from a publishing company who had got my contact information from the magazine I wrote for. She was interested in publishing my novels. I sent her one of my unpublished stories and after a few weeks she proposed a meeting.

They came to the meeting with an already printed book. She put it in front of me on the table. It was really unbelievable. Without thinking I signed the contract. It was pure luck I wasn’t fooled.

I was so proud. Although I’d used a penname so my actual name wasn’t on the book - I was so proud. I sent them a new novel and, a few months later, my second book was published. Wow! I sent them a third one. They published it too. 

And then… things went wrong and we discontinued our association.

I wrote several stories after that, but never tried to contact another publisher. I didn't see the point. Again, writing became a hobby that I loved.

Then my life changed, became busy and I never had enough time. I still don’t. But stories were, and still are, in my head, and they wanted out, so I had to find the time to get them down on paper.

A couple of years ago, I found one - unfinished. I had started to write it a long, long, long time ago. I’d tried to finish it two years ago on our summer vacation. Never did. So, I printed out what was written and gave it to one of my colleagues at work, who likes to read as much as I do.

Two weeks later she came into my office and cursed me, laughing. She went on and on without telling exactly what I did wrong. I was shocked.

"FINISH IT ALREADY!" she said.

“I will Polona, I promise…”