The Influence of Literature in My Life

Curled up on my cozy homemade pallet of quilts and pillows nestled on the floor of my bedroom closet, my hand would search out in the darkness to find the switch of my baby doll night-light. The yellow-haired, rosy-cheeked girl with a blue checkered dress whose face lit up when turned on and who bobbled when she was moved, provided just enough light to host my nightly escapes from the real world to delve into the fantasy world of my favorite heroine, Heidi. This, of course, was after I had tip-toed into the kitchen to gather the necessary provisions for my evening rendezvous: The "heel" of the homemade bread my mom had pulled from the oven earlier that afternoon; a haphazardly cut chunk of Velveeta processed cheese from the refrigerator; and a small Mason jelly jar of skim milk.

Taking care not to wake my younger sister, I would step delicately over the brown electrical cord that stretched across my room to illuminate my new reading quarters, and with my armload of props, I would snuggle in the closet, ready to continue my Swiss Alps adventure.

Three times, I traveled through my dog-eared, weathered paperback copy of Johanna Spyri's best-known children's story, Heidi, and each time, I felt compelled to experience the culinary luxuries (to the best of my juvenile abilities, of course) that Adelheid herself feasted on - a hunk of bread with goats milk cheese and a tin of fresh warm goat's milk. In some way this made me feel closer to the story's main character, a desire I realized almost the instant I discovered the book in a box of treasures my friend's mother had gleaned from a relative's house for the purpose of selling at a garage sale.

This experience was just the earliest of many literary-inspired ones that shaped my personality, fueled my desire to see new places and moved me to create stories of my own.

As the oldest and shyest of four children, I found - and still do today - comfort in the solitude of reading, bliss at the sharp smell of ink on paper, and companionship in the characters that occupied my mind while performing mundane chores in-between those precious reading sessions; and by middle school, I had decided that I would be joining the ranks of Gertrude Chandler Warner, Judy Blume, and Jane Sutton, just to name a few.

I aim today to remember exactly what sidetracked my lofty aspirations as a well-known and respected fictional writer. Was it the desire and struggle to fit in with my silly peers who felt that reading was reserved for those who lacked grace and athleticism or had no ambition? What a foolish notion, especially considering the fact that I never did succeed in making my niche among them. Perhaps it was just my own extreme awkward adolescence that persuaded me to doubt my ability to accomplish my goals.

Whatever the reasons, my high school years found me unmotivated, socially displaced, unhappy with my home life, barely passing my classes; and hence, I was swept along with the wave of students deemed adequate for vocational studies and convinced by counselors that the best option for "students like me" was to take on the high school administrative assistant or cosmetology curriculum and grab a job right out of high school.

I did well in my secretarial/executive assistant positions and found that I had a knack for composing business letters and other various documents that allowed me to excel in my employment, but all too often I would come face-to-face with the regretful fact that I just did not quite measure up to my co-workers because I lacked a college education (Not that I didn't try; in fact, I had attempted courses at the local technical college a year after high school, only to be scared away by the required public speaking class).

While I no longer considered myself the avid reader I once was, I still would find time to indulge in the occasional book, enjoying such classics as Jane Austen's Persuasion (now my personal favorite), Thomas Hardy's Tess of D'Urbervilles, or more contemporary works such as Eleanor Hibbert's many gothic mysteries like The Judas Kiss or Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha. I was surprised to find that each time I finished a book, my head would be spinning with ideas for my own stories and so I would begin writing. However, my responsibilities as a wife and mother eventually took priority and my amassed collection of half-written stories in heaping piles of notebooks and floppy disks were left to sit and collect dust.

With the support of my family, I decided to take time away from employment and pursue higher education full time. Feeling obligated to choose a degree in a more "practical" vein; I started my studies in accounting and ended with an Associate's degree in Health Administration (this, of course took me almost four years to complete). While not necessarily a small accomplishment, it had not escaped my husband's notice (or anyone else's for that matter) that my zeal for my studies was all but dead.

It occurred to me that during my time in school, I found myself feeling guilty every time I thought about picking up a book in leisure or pulling out one of my half-written stories; but what struck me most as I pondered the past three years, was that my mind always did wander back to reading and writing. I recalled how after securing my children's interests in esteem-building activities like sports, dancing and horseback riding, I thrilled at my daughter's almost gluttonous consumption of L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series, C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia or Carolyn Keene's Nancy Drew collection - the very same classics I enjoyed when I was a 12‑year‑old!

With the encouragement of my husband, I overcame my unreasonable perception regarding the impracticality of literature in modern day-to-day life and pulled out a couple of the literary projects I had abandoned long ago; and in doing so, I managed to complete and publish a children's book and have since been working - zealously and unashamedly - on a fictional novel.

Joining Associated Content feels like a natural next step for me; a reunion with the long-lost sense of myself. No longer compromising my passions for practicality, I look forward to expressing myself in such a multifarious venue and encouraging my children and others, by example, to pursue a course that will truly bring them joy.