I never thought I’d write a book, but one night in September of 2015, I couldn’t go to sleep, so I began writing. It wasn’t until May of 2016, when I mailed out my manuscripts to my critique group, that I was finally able to fall asleep.
So who am I? Isn’t that the eternal question? Well, this much I know. I was born and raised in Wyoming. I grew up with horses out my back door and cow manure laden pastures as my playground. The Bridger Valley, where I lived, is one of those places located off Interstate-80 that, when you drive by, you feel bad for the people who make their lives there. But live there I did, and love it, I do, with all my heart.
I have to admit I feel silly devoting so much of my time to putting words down on paper. It really is quite ridiculous, I type letters…all day long, you’re jealous aren’t you? When I was about ready to give it all up, my hubby encouraged me by emphasizing to me the power that words can hold. He brought up the idea of scripture, the words that prophets sat down and compiled thousands of years ago, he said, are the words of salvation. We had a good laugh over his analogy, but his comment made me think. My writing, although no where near the caliber of John (the disciple whom Jesus loved), still have merit. They are given to me to write, so I write them down. It’s as simple as that.
I am not an author by trade, but I LOVE to tell stories; for instance, we are in the middle of an outdoor remodel. Six months ago my hubby went and tore up all the concrete around our house, making it virtually impossible to get into our home through the front door. In addition to removing our front steps, he had a deep footing dug right in front of our entrance. In order for a person to go out of our home, she had to hang onto the door handle and swing to the left to make a two foot drop to a gravel landing, while at the same time, try to avoid an additional three foot drop into the open footing. I thought it wouldn’t take long to get the front porch put back in, but that was in December, it’s May. My hubby put in a few pieces of plywood as a makeshift porch in January, as it was getting dangerous for the mail lady to come and go but, when he painted wood, I knew we were in for the long haul…possibly forever (that’s how we roll). Just yesterday, that ugly piece of plywood came out and the new deck began to go in and I have to admit, I was sad to see it go. There’s nothing fun to talk about with a new deck, but when you have a crappy piece of plywood as your entrance, now that’s a story that needs to be told.
So there you have it, I’m a story teller and I’m giving this author thing a go. I have the utmost respect for anyone who has attempted to pen their ideas; this author bit is a lot more complicated than I had originally thought. I know I can tell a story, but can I write one, that is the question. Thank you for checking out my blog and I want you to know how much I appreciate the time you have taken to give my words a chance. I hope the stories I tell make you laugh, cry, and even fall in love.
Nicole L. Ochoa (my friends call my Nikki, if you’ve made it through this “about” section, I consider you a friend)