Got a book in you?

They say everyone's got a book in them. That would be fine with me, but my problem is that I've not only gotten one book out of me, but I have at least two more in me. (Okay, four!)

The bug hit when I was in the second grade. I hid my manuscript under my bed. The notebook paper with large penciled letters was off-limits to my younger sister, and no one else looked under my bed. Fortunately, I suppose, we moved a lot when I was young, so the book didn't stay under the bed long. When I finally dragged it out on moving day, I skimmed the pages. In a flash of insight I recognized the plot: the soap opera my mother watched daily.

Maybe an unoriginal start, but a diary followed; then reams of stories, poetry, essays, and lessons. The writing bug, fattened by a steady diet of library books, was worming its way into my neurons. I was hooked.

A college major in English, a couple of post-graduate degrees, two rejected book manuscripts, a number of magazine and curriculum-related articles, and a career in teaching and publishing followed. Then it happened. A publisher said yes.

Living Between the Ditches: When God Makes No Sense will be published in June. I'd love to sit on my laurels, knowing my grandchildren can order POD, but the bug is biting again. I was finishing a household task this evening when my thoughts drifted to the main character in my next book. He was playing on the stairwell in his home when he was a little boy.

I'd love to tell you more, but I've got to write the story down before I forget it.

Live between the ditches, 

Betty