A lot of people believe writers are born, not made. I’ve heard of writers who sprung out of the womb fully formed as storytellers, ready from early childhood to spin their yarns.

This writer was born and made. I’ve been crazy in love with words and books since I started reading at two (my first read was Little Bear…and that book still makes me cry). But I needed life to toughen me up enough to translate that passion for stories into finished work.

Like some writers and artists do, I suffered from shyness as a child. In order to cope, I hid within my mind, in a lush world populated by book characters and people I met in dreams.

It got pretty crowded in there, and eventually I had to deal with the outside world, make a separate peace with it in order to grow, not just survive. So to navigate the soul-killing aspects of life in school I developed a strong, capable persona. She was the warrior who dispatched bullies and placated teachers so that the dreamer could roam in her inner garden.

Sounds like multiple personality disorder, doesn’t it? Maybe it was, but my strategy worked for a heckuva long time, at least on a superficial level. My warrior woman went to Harvard Law School, practiced litigation in Connecticut and New York, kicked butt in a very satisfying way. Her shy deer counterpart dreamed on, well hidden, well protected.

And the whole crowd inside the garden was happy. We all could have continued on our merry way indefinitely…the only person who felt dissatisfied with this situation was, well, me.

I’d survived way too long split up into a bunch of different pieces. My dreamer, walled off from the outside world, couldn’t manifest her visions without the help of the warrior. But the warrior was too busy fighting other people’s battles. Fortunately for me, a series of events blew my old habits away.

First, my oldest child was born. An incredible person, who immediately taught me two things: (1) I am strong enough to do anything I have to do; (2) I am not going to live forever. My husband and I decided to move back to New York, live closer to family and friends.

And then 9/11 happened. My oldest was 9 months old at the time, and we’d moved back to the metro NY area only a few weeks before. I froze up for a few months after the attack on our country. You know what brought me back to myself? Stories. Dreams. And novels that that breathed magic back into the desert of daily life.

My children and husband sustained me. Romance novels entranced me. Everyday heroes inspired me. Now my writing has cracked my old life wide open, and I’m learning how to grow my secret garden here, in the everyday, magical world.