I never set out to write a novel.
In the '80's when we lived on Vancouver Island, in the heart of aging Hippie-land, we knew this lovely young girl, Heidi -- she was about 13 at the time -- who was completely exasperated by her parents' need to cling to their "back to the land" ways. She would roll her eyes and say: "I mean, just for Christmas, can we not have real shortbread cookies. Does my Mom have to make them with whole wheat flour, sunflower seeds and honey?"
I actually set out to write a cute little short story about a girl like Heidi. I figured that it would end up being about 3 pages and funny. I sarted writing. After 4 months, I had 100 pages and the essence of Starla's story, and I realized that this thing had taken on a life of its own.
One of the things about my personality is that I really hate to waste things: time, food, energy, bits of paper...Well it seemed after all that work, I couldn't waste it, but I also realized that what I had was just a framework which didn't stand by itself. Had I realized that the project would consume a mojor part of the next 2 1/2 years of my life, I may have thought it through a bit more. Sometimes it's a good thing that we don't know what lies ahead.
Copyright 2007
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