While growing up, stories were always a big part of my life. But that didn’t mean that I liked to read. In fact, I hated it. I was dyslexic and I just, for the life of me, couldn’t figure out how to make those stupid letters stay in one place on the page.

Then I became a shy little 7th grader. There was one girl who sat in front of me in history who always had her nose in a book. I wanted to be her friend but didn’t know how. So I did the mature thing and stole her book one day. And just to prove that I was actually interested in it, I started to read it. It was Vampire Diaries from L.J. Smith. (Yep, that series came out before I was in 7th grade! They came out 1991. Stephen is so much better in the book!) Well, I became her friend, but I also became obsessed with that book. I struggled through it, and then the next book, then the next.

Soon I was reading a book or two a day. I couldn’t get enough of them! Then I started to write to write my own, as a hobby. I didn’t realize writing could be more than that.

I immersed myself in the real world. I studied biology and zoology extensively. I loved it. Loved understanding the world around me, knowing how things broke down, how the food chain functioned, but a hole that developed inside, where my creativity started to shrink and die.

So I changed my major to art, with thoughts of Pixar on my mind. I had a great imagination and a knack for drawing. It wasn’t until I got engaged that I finally stopped and thought about what I wanted—really wanted—to be in ten years. It hit me like a ten pound weight over my head. I wanted to be a mom and an author. And I wasn’t doing anything right now to get myself there.

There was so much that I had to learn before I felt somewhat worthy enough to stand next to the incredible people with their names on the pages that I binged. So I got to learning. It took a long time because life and (3 adorable!) kids always got in the way. But I’ve discovered that everything I’ve learned—from the all the ‘wasted’ science classes that I can apply to the worlds that I build, to the staging I learned in the art classes, to the amazing advice I’ve gotten from authors in that magical world of words around me—all of it helped me be a better writer.

I still have more to learn. I always will, even when I’m eighty years old. Hopefully you can be another piece of the puzzle that helps become a better me.