The short: I like reading a lot.
The long: When I was little my parents read to me every night. Now most people will say their parents did that too at one point in time or another, but mine kept it up until I was almost in junior high. That was about the time that the teacher complaints about my lack of comprehension got them to take me to a doctor.
The doctors told them I was dyslexic and ADD. They pointed a finger at my dad saying he probably gave them both to me from what they saw of his behavior. The Texas school system was more than happy to put me in a class with other kids that had learning disabilities, so their overall test scores wouldn't be affected by me.
I was pissed. Sure I knew that I got distracted but no one was about to tell me I was stupid. I won't lie, the special classes helped my spelling more that I will admit to most days. But the plain and simple fact was I was treated like I was stupid by most teachers.
Then came the book A Time For Andrew. My parents had been instructed by doctors to make me read aloud rather than read to me. It was a painful struggle that normally ended with my mom stomping away from me because I was confusing little words and she didn't understand why I didn't notice. A Time for Andrew was the first book I ever liked that I had to read on my own. It was a ghost story of sorts were through a magical attic two boys named Andrew from different time periods changed places.
That was the book that taught me there was a lot more to fantasy than just what my parents thought was okay. I also learned very quickly that most girls at the age of eleven like books about horses and babysitter and that they thought I was weird for picking up anything with the word Witch on the front. I was hooked from day one to fantasy and after a while branched out to science fiction.
A few years latter the Harry Potter books came out and validated my interests to the rest of my class. Suddenly I was not an outcast for what I read but rather a trend setter. I found paranormal books not long after and began my love affair with werewolves and my constant battle to prove they are better than vampires any day. I also slowly became a reader of the truly trashy "bodice rippers" and quickly found that when you take a paranormal idea and mix it with a trashy romance novel there is a sort of perfection in what comes out.
All this time I was also creating in my head. That ADD kept my brain moving and what it moved to were original story ideas. I have a box in the basement at my mom's house that is full of pages torn from notebooks were I outlined my brilliant ideas, some more so than others. Two years ago I was visiting my cousin when that dreaded question about what I wanted to do with my life came up. I said the truth, any job besides being an author is just to pay the bills until I become an author. My cousin asked if I had started a blog. I said no. She told me I should.
A few months later I Can't Believe I Just Read That was born. I named the blog as such because its what I say after I read a lot of books. I groan and make the same statement. So now rather than making my boyfriend want to put duct tape over my mouth so I will stop talking about books I vent here. Because there is bound to be other people who will listen.
