I’ve been writing for over a decade now. I started in high school, though the stories I wrote then are so cringe-worthy I’d rather burn them than count them toward any sort of writing tally. In college, though, I took several creative writing courses, which helped me hone my craft and gave me a bit more direction.
I started several novels in college and the years immediately after, a couple of which I’ve tinkered with as recently as a couple years ago. I fell in love with so many characters, most of whom are still waiting for me to get around to finishing their stories. And I did finish a story–and rewrote, revised, rewrote (again), and polished–and sent it into the world, hoping to see it published. The feedback I received was overwhelmingly positive, though there’s still a long road to go.
Looking back at my stories, the ones I revisit and work on every now and then as well as those I’ve sealed away in a box in my closet, possibly forever, I’ve learned a few things about myself.
I love music. Every story I’ve written has at least one scene where characters are dancing. Be it a dystopian military barracks, a Viking world, the Wild West, or a World War II field hospital, I find a way to get my characters moving to a tune.
Same with lovable sidekicks. I fall a little harder for the minor characters than my main characters in pretty much every story I write. Could be a sign my stories are following the wrong people; I like to hope it just means all my characters are fleshed out well.
And siblings. Be it found-family or blood, all my main characters share a strong sibling bond with one of said sidekick-type characters.
As we move farther into the 2020s, I’m already following this pattern. I’ve got another story down–complete with a fireside dance scene and an incorrigible, lovable little brother–and too many more ideas wrestling to be next.