If you walk into the house I grew up in, you will be faced
with numerous bookshelves. Living in such an environment makes it surprising
that I refused to read until I was eight, and even then I much preferred being
read to. Reading was something I did before going to bed; the rest of the day
was taken up with playing, and as I got older the dramas of teenage life. But occasionally
a book would come along that stole my attention from the world. One such book
was Peaches by Jodi Lynn Anderson; I lost count of the number of times I got it
out of the library, or how many times I asked for my own copy.
I had been creating stories for years, wanting to escape
reality, but one day I decided to start writing, wanting to follow in my great
grandmothers footsteps. My dad told me that if I wanted to be a good writer I would
need to read more that romantic teen-fiction. So my adventure with books truly
begun; from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott to Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck,
the list is still growing. But with every new book I learn something; by
knowing what is already out there I can create something new.
Then hopefully one day I will be able to join my great
grandmother, Elizabeth Taylor with my own name on a cover; well that is the
dream anyway.


