You Are Who You Are Because …
Have you ever thought about the influencing events of your life? Not the people. Not even the books—writers in particular are fond of discussing which books had the greatest impact on them. I’m talking about some key experiences that played a significant role in shaping you into the person you are today.
Not sure what made me think of this, but one experience—more like a way of life—jumped to mind. Before I was even born, my parents bought a goodly-sized piece of mountain property in Colorado. For the next eight or so years, we, the family, set about building a log cabin.
That became the place of choice for most vacations. You need to understand, this was about as isolated a piece of land you could get in Colorado. A long section of the road was dirt, though from year to year more of it was paved or grated. Still, after driving through a fenced pasture, and creeping over rock strewn lanes, we had to park the car and hike the last 3/4 of a mile.
All that to say, there were no neighbor children I played with when we went to the cabin.
Instead, when I wasn’t gathering wood for the fireplace, hauling water from the creek, fetching food from our version of an “ice box,” or doing any of the other kid-sized chores, I was playing games with my brother and sister or sitting out front on a nice sandy bank beside the “road” and making up stories.
I created roads, towns, good guys and bad guys (I grew up when Westerns were big), hideaways, ambushes … you name it. And I provided the dialogue for all the players. Yes, there were players—tiny plastic cowboy figures, horses, Indians. There was even a woman or two and as I recall I generally made them head of the outlaw band.
Hold onto that experience.
Another was with my sister’s paper dolls. My sister’s, not mine. Ooooohh, I wanted a set of paper dolls. You could DO things with paper dolls—dress them up, give them conversations, have them interact with each other. But my sister, undoubtedly believing I would harm her paper dolls—they were, after all, made of paper, and I was not known for being … gentle with toys, or clothes, or dishes, or much of anything—my sister put those paper dolls off limits.
I confess, once in a great while I would sneak into my sister’s belongings and pull out the paper dolls and play with them, which is why I know just how fun they were.
But here’s the connection. What if I had my own set of paper dolls and played dress up with them and took them shopping and gave them new purses and shoes—rather than spending hours at a time planning ambushes and creating towns and trails?
Could it be I’d be writing women’s fiction instead of sword-and-sorcery fantasy? Just maybe … ![]()






