When I was in second grade, I colored a picture of a fox. He wore a wide brimmed hat and green jacket and held a fishing pole in his hands. And then I wrote a story about him on big lined paper.
A few years later I had a composition notebook and I pretended to be Harriet the Spy, writing down everything. (Hmm…maybe Harriet is the reason I put the “M” in my name. Harriet M. Welsch. Karen M. Krueger.)
And when I was fourteen I wrote bad poetry and started my very own retelling of Beauty and the Beast, because I loved Robin McKinley’s two retellings so much.
In high school, I was an editor for our literary magazine and was oh-so-proud of my writing–it was published!
Naturally, when I got accepted in to Brigham Young University, I started with journalism, moved on to English and editing, and took the creative writing class with Carol Lynch Williams that started me writing–really writing–for the first time.
So yes, I am the cliche “I’ve been writing all my life” writer. But when my fingers itch to write down all the words that are spinning like teacups in my head, there’s not much I can do.
I’m mom to the cutest blue-eyed baby girl, and I can guarantee that if she’s sleeping, I’m writing. And because of that little bundle of joy that I realized that it’s possible (and sometimes necessary) to type with my toes, though I haven’t made a habit out of it. I also like to sing and to eat cereal. Oh, and even though I’m as pale as one, I can’t possibly be a vampire, because sunshine is an essential requirement for my happiness.