I was always that kid in the back of the class with my nose stuck in a book, until I became the kid in the back of the class with my nose stuck in my notebook. My love for writing started very early on. As a child, I read book after book, zipping through my school library’s collection as I moved several grades above my own reading level.
I was fascinated with books—still am—and when it finally clicked for me that someone was actually writing the stories I love, it was almost magical. I knew then and there it was what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
I grew up in a small, rural Kentucky town. If you passed me in the halls at school, you’d often see me with three library books—the absolute maximum I was allowed to check out per week—and a spiral bound notebook, which, if you looked inside, would contain whatever story I was working on at that time.
When we were giving writing assignments and the rest of the class groaned, you could be sure to find me with a giant grin on my face. English teachers loved me, when they weren’t having to tell me to put the book or notebook down.
I’d been writing short stories and poems for even longer, but it was in fourth grade when I finally completed my first novel. The Life and Times of the Three Potatoes was a harrowing and, at times, humorous story, about three friends who called themselves potatoes.
By the time I got to Junior High, I had an entire bookshelf in my room burstings with novels written in spiral bound notebooks or typed on my old, electric typewriter. It was around that time that my parents bought me a second hand, clunky computer. It had no access to the internet, but all I cared about was that I could access the Notepad application. I spent every day after school and on the weekends sitting in front of that, typing away on the stories that were in my head. It was cathartic in a way, and deeply gratifying. I built entire worlds on that computer, crafted characters who were witty or charming, bold or beautiful. I gave them love stories like I’d seen in my favorite books, created treacherous mysteries for them to solve, and watched their stories play out in my head, detailing every bit of them on paper.
There was one particular story, Belle of Beauty, about a young girl who discovered she was the reincarnation of the Greek Goddess Aphrodite, that I was particularly proud of. I printed off all two hundred pages of the story and took it to my parents to read. They took it to their friends. I took it to my friends. Eventually, we started a sort of library system with the books I created, where I’d keep a list of everyone who wanted to read my stories and we’d pass the two hundred pages of printer paper around, my novels making their way through the halls of my school as if they were a library book, waiting list and everything.
That tradition continued with every book I wrote until I left that school my Junior year of high school. I remember around that time when the questions became more serious:
“What do you want to do when you grow up?”
“What are you really going to do, though?”
“You’re graduating next year, what are your plans?”
All my life, the answer to that question had been simple: I’m going to be a writer. But suddenly there was talk of back up plans and realistic goals. The people who had cheered me on the hardest all my life were suddenly worried my head was too far in the clouds.
But if it was, the damage was already done. My head and heart were set on becoming an author. I was ready for the work it would take. After graduation, I began writing the novel I planned to publish and researching all that it would take to make it happen.
Though it took a little longer than I’d planned, and I did, in fact, need a few back up plans while I waited, my first novel was released when I was twenty-two years old. It’s been nearly five years since then, and I’ve released twenty-five books in total.
Writing shaped every part of my life, giving me a goal to focus on, building up my confidence when I needed it the most, and providing me a reason to believe in myself. So, on the topic of writing and me, there is no separation. We are one and the same. I’m not sure I exist without it.
(c) Kiersten Modglin
About Just Married:
When my husband found this perfect little cabin in the woods for our honeymoon, I couldn’t wait to get away. Just us in the middle of the forest, waking up every day in the trees, ending each night in the hot tub under the stars. But now I’m not sure that I know my husband at all…
I just wish we’d gone to the police when someone left a note on the doormat saying: She’s dead, you’re next. Ryan said I was overreacting, but I don’t understand why he won’t go to the cops now things are getting worse. Can I trust my husband?
I’ve known about the terrible thing that Ryan did for years and it’s been tearing me apart. Last night I told him I would always keep his secret. But is the man I married hiding something else from me?
Now someone has cut the phone lines and we’re trapped here. Ryan swears he has no idea what’s going on and just wants to keep us safe. I’m here alone in the middle of the dark forest with the man I thought I could trust. My heart is racing and there’s no one I can call…
My husband promised till death do us part. Am I about to find out what that means?
A heart-pounding, unbelievably twisty psychological thriller that will have you sleeping with the light on!
Order your copy online here.