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More About Peggy

If anybody asks why I write, I blame it on my eighth-grade English teacher. Mrs. Osborn wore a ponytail draped over her shoulder and sat with one leg folded under her at the desk in the front of the room. She possessed a rather drab personality, yet something caught fire inside me when she taught us how to place words on a page in unique ways. I wanted to know more. She encouraged our class to enter the district creative writing contest, so I created a fictional story and submitted my work. Imagine my mouth agape when the principal announced over the loudspeaker a few weeks later that I had won first place.​

The raw talent for word-divining began earlier in my career. My dad taught me to read before I entered kindergarten. In the first grade, I wrote a poem that appeared in a local newspaper. Even my occasional story or two adorning the pages of my elementary school’s literary magazine kept me enthralled with world-building. However, the competition between my best friend and me seemed to excite my enthusiasm the most.

It wasn’t until I got married and started reading a book a day that the yearning to write took hold. I envied many authors’ abilities to whisk me off to places I had never visited before, how their words made me believe I was as strong as their protagonists and that I could accomplish whatever I set my mind to conquer.​

Mine was a slow process, digging up the dusty talents of my earlier years. Techniques, style, and tone had changed, catering to a newer, more innovative market. It still changes. I’ve relearned the craft amidst mothering four sons, keeping my job alive, and surviving cancer. I’ve published articles for several local newspapers, won an essay contest, earned a degree in Multimedia, and pursued a graphic design career. I am writing my third novel and am excited about my prospects.

 

Add to the mix my drive to research my genealogy. I want to know where I came from to understand the struggles and sacrifices my ancestors experienced so that I can live and breathe today. I have searched graveyards, courthouses, and antiquated books to find the answers to my personal history. 

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Bestselling author James Owen has a philosophy that touches me to the core. He says, “If you really want to do something, no one can stop you, but if you really don’t want to do something, no one can help you.” I believe such inspiration. It’s fodder for the most talented among us. It’s the promise of the culmination of everything I’ve studied and desired to become: myself. You know the individual--the soul who can’t help but create, despite all the rest. I believe that’s a good thing.

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