Lesley's Sweet Autobiography

My first glance of the world was a whirlwind of expectations, and I felt like I was hanging on by a cord. It was 1971, and I arrived with no script, no carefully crafted character arc. Just a sense that something extraordinary might happen, if I could just keep breathing.

Our relationship was growing stale in my tweens, so I started looking around. A lingering awareness of mystery books tugged at my heartstrings. Each book was a flirtation, a promise of secrets waiting to be unraveled. The thrill of the chase, the allure of the unknown, and my young heart raced with each twist and turn, caught up in the delicious anticipation of a well-kept secret finally revealed.

As a budding teen, I had a brief interaction with self-reflection in the form of a diary. I accepted the invitation of the blank page, brimming with potential, only to find that my everyday musings were kind of dull. My attention turned to crafting interesting stories instead.

As a fully blossomed teenager, I started noticing the little things—the subtle glances, the whispered confessions of everyday life. I gathered them up like precious trinkets, spinning them into unfinished tales that sparkled with possibilities.

The anticipation of my first planned interaction coursed through my veins after college, a milestone marked by the arrival of my very own computer. Together, we explored the nascent world wide web, where I wrote independent content for websites, each post a small declaration of independence. Joy filled me up when I realized the limitless reach of my poetry and research, unbound by geography or time zones.

Playful teasing marked my late twenties, as I dabbled in spoken word and website building. Coding was my contagonist, a complex character arc that never resolved to my favor. But the thrill of a web page coming to life, of a story finding its home online, kept me engaged, even as I realized my heart preferred prose to programming.

Unable to steer clear of my wildest dreams, I gave into my flustered realization that my passion lay not in marketing material or HTML tags but in the rich tapestry of fiction. The stuff of racing hearts and human experiences to which no bullet point or blog post could ever compare.

It wasn’t long before shared laughs caressed the air, an inside joke between me and whoever penned my early rejection letters. Growing weary of one-sided relationships—my perpetual hopefulness pitted against a sea of one-time writing-submissions, only a few lending the courtesy of a few parting words—I grew a pair of perspectives, broad and deep, and went in search of something more comforting and cozy.

(Continued below the ad for my debut book.)

(Continued from above.)

An unspoken commitment developed soon after between productive procrastination and me. As I dedicated spare time to scribbling story ideas during the hustle and bustle of real life, writing became my quiet companion.

Decades flew by and we agreed to take a break from the maddening pace of me attempting to finish writing projects that I simply failed to launch. My talent knew that it was being wasted. However, after completing law school in my forties, taking a detour into statutes and case law, my heart ached for the creativity I’d set aside. And we found our way back to each other, vowing to never part again.

Our challenges had not truly waned though, as turning fifty years old proved in abundance. Suffering the loss of my beloved dad and remaining unpublished, my resolve was undeterred. It was a moment of reckoning, a realization that the judgment of the world mattered less than the joy of creating something meaningful.

Therefore, I raised my metaphorical writing pen and showed up, meeting my talent halfway in order to make our relationship a lasting one.

Now, I’m fully committed—engaged to writing novels with a promise to deliver to the world what I seek in return: connection, laughter, touch of magic. And, above all else, love.

Here is to the next chapter, the next plot twist, the happily-ever-after that is one story away.