If you ask what makes me tick, I would have to say writing.  I have had a longing, a deep desire in my heart to write, since my early teens.  I would escape from reality by making up stories and creating situations with happy endings and not so happy endings.
 
Writing is part of who I am.  Where ever I go I am on the lookout for a story.  Most folks I meet and those I observe have the potential of becoming a character in the next story.  Circumstances I find myself in are soon fodder for another compelling story idea.  I am drawn to write about my faith and the role Jesus has played in my life and my recovery from life.  Each new experience is a potential topic to be put on paper.
 
The actual act of writing didn’t come easy in the beginning.  Wanting to write, having this burning inside to sit down and compose a story, took a lot of determination and drive, until I stumbled upon a book about flash writing.  Flash writing, described as, writing with speed and boldness without significant planning, had my interest.  The writer, instructed to set a time limit, is instructed to just write.  Don’t think, or stop to edit, just keep writing, stop only when time is up.   
 
It may be I only needed to get some words out of my system and now I can get down to business.  More often than not, some of the mindless words I typed gave me an idea or a thought to develop.  I find flash writing an interesting and helpful exercise.
 
Creating a story doesn’t come easily or quickly.  There is usually pain involved, either because the topic is one that is taking me to a place that is difficult to face or because I can’t quite get started.  I am always motivated, but not always directed, until I find the right slant.
 
There is much that inspires me, Scripture, family—especially grandsons—my childhood, your childhood; the list goes on.  In fact, inspiration is all around, at work, the airport, classroom, hospital waiting room; anywhere I happen to be, there is material for a story.  The process takes me inside my head where I think things through, turning each idea around in my head until it begins to take shape.  The final product is often quite different from the beginning notion. 
 
When growing up, life at home though challenging, instilled in me the ability to read a situation upon walking into a room.  I had a knack to act and react accordingly.  Having played so many scenarios out in my mind, I could cope with what ever waited for me.  This coping mechanism of my youth is now a gift I use for creative story development. 
 
Once I am finally writing, putting words on paper and telling a story, time flies by until I come up for air, or coffee.  The first draft of a piece needs to sit and season for a bit; at least overnight, before editing.  I love the editing process, as this is where I can truly get creative.  The story often changes dramatically during this process as I cut every word not having a reason to be included.
 
In high school sophomore English, I wrote a poem titled, First Date.  It went something like this:

                                 It finally happened, your first date.
                                You’re beginning to panic cause it’s getting late,
                                Your hair is in rollers, your face is in cream;
                                You just scorched your dress and you’re ready to scream.
 
The verse continues with the date arriving, escorting the young lady out to the car, only to be struck by a construction vehicle.  It ended with the lines:
 
                                Now he is part of the pavement you see;
                                For it was a steamroller, not a truck, that took him from me.
 
It received an “A” and a note from the teacher telling me I had a morbid sense of humor.  That’s all the encouragement I needed.  I never looked back.