Just. Keep. Writing.
It all began with an idea. Something that seemed to be fluttering around in my mind for nearly a decade before I finally found the courage (and time) to get my fingertips on the keyboard. No matter what I had on my heaping plate of life, or what challenges were set before me, getting this story out of my brain and into the world stayed with me for years. What began as a soft nudge in the back of my mind eventually turned into a shove, leaving me no other choice but to sit down and write.
I was probably in Elementary School when I first noticed that writing made me happy. I’m sure there were earlier moments before this specific one, but for some reason, this writing assignment clearly stands out when I think about my early years as a writer. It was springtime, and our assignment was to come up with a creative story featuring the Easter Bunny. I distinctly remember ideas pouring out of me faster than I could write them all down, and before long, I had a story featuring a debonair Easter Bunny running an elaborate factory that produced magical Easter eggs.
I wish I could get my hands on this “award-winning” piece of literature, but even without seeing it in my fourth-grade handwriting, I can still picture the golden knobs and shiny gears of the factory I created, as well as the well-dressed Easter Bunny working swiftly to ensure every magical egg was ready in time for the holiday. It couldn’t have been more than just a few pages long, but it was my first true taste of creative writing, and from that moment, I just knew I needed to keep on writing.
And so, that is exactly what I did! I kept on writing. In junior high school, I had the privilege to be a part of our school newspaper, The Panther Press. As an “official reporter”, I learned how to collaborate on projects as a news team, uncover stories in everyday school life, and most importantly, how to nurture and strengthen my writing skills. It was a true blessing for me, and looking back now, I see it as something that helped to catapult me into the next chapters of my life.
High school did come with a few inevitable distractions, but my passion for writing was something that always remained a constant. By the time senior year rolled around, I was fairly certain writing would be part of my career in some way, shape, or form. But in normal young adult fashion, the way this would happen still seemed a bit blurry, like trying to make out a picture that isn’t quite focused all the way.
The dust settled, and the picture finally came clearly into view after I completed my Associate’s Degree at Illinois Valley Community College. I had taken some writing courses and decided that writing was still my thing. With that, I packed up my life and headed to Chicago to attend Columbia College Chicago and pursue a degree in journalism. As I am writing this now, I feel that a separate blog post will need to be made describing my life as “just a small-town-girl” (I hope you sang that) trying to survive the city. It may sound cliche but trust me, it is a good story.
Writing in college was so cool. It often felt like I was a part of something bigger. Something that mattered, like I was part of this group that would change the world with my voice, and of course, my words. It was then that the story of Bromley Quinn started to slowly come to the surface. Whether it was living away from home for the first time in an environment that catapulted me out of my comfort zone (daily), or the fact that I have always been nostalgic, something kept bringing me back to The Panther Press, and hoping that the girl with braces and curled bangs would be proud of me.
Time marched on, and I did keep writing. Bromley’s story and the characters she surrounds herself with came out of my mind so vividly and naturally. They felt like people I have always known, and truthfully, they are. So many experiences and people throughout my life have left lasting impressions, some of which I have found bubbling back up to the surface and spilling out onto the pages as I typed away at my book. I may not be able to tell you what I did last week, but as I was writing, the memory of my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Bauers, suddenly came to life. I could see her clearly as she read Wayside School is Falling Down while her ceramic Siamese cat stood guard on the edge of her desk (yes, this cat does make a cameo in the book).
The idea that began years ago now sits in physical form on my laptop, waiting to enter the world and the imaginations of curious readers like me. I am so proud of all 179 pages I have written, and consider them a homage to my junior high years and those who inspired me to be brave enough to write and share my stories. My hope is that maybe, just maybe, Bromley Quinn will encourage someone else to just keep writing.
It’s worth it.