I knew from a young age that I wanted to be a writer. It started with reading. I loved losing myself in words more than anything. Comics, cereal boxes, instructions–it didn’t matter. If there were words on the page, I read them.
Growing up, the library was my sanctuary and books my refuge. I knew words had power–they’d been used against me often enough by that time. When I felt as if I didn’t belong to my family or in my own skin, the fantastical worlds created by writers welcomed me, fired my imagination, diverted my attention, gave me dreams and hope and a way out.
These powerful words planted a seed. An idea that perhaps I too, could create fantastical worlds, that I too could create an answer to the question “What if?” So I started writing. Of course it was dreck, but it was earnest dreck. Then a Halloween short story became a PTA play. Then I started writing stories for extra credit in English (because, while I could string words together, I had no idea what a participle was, dangling or otherwise) and just for fun. Stories like the fictional autobiography of a piece of bubble gum. Three sisters chosen to be guardians of a far off land. My friends and I as a semi-fictional all-girl rock band dating an all-male rock band. I enjoyed myself, not taking my stories seriously until I wrote an essay for the first MLK Jr holiday celebration. Which I got to read in front of Coretta Scott King and her children.
That was when I realized that my words had power. That I, little ole me, could weave words together and touch someone with what I forged. I was going to be a writer. Life happened as it tends to do, and my dream was deferred for fourteen years. I dabbled with words, writing for me, because it was therapeutic. That high school story about the all-girl band grew as I grew, changed as I changed, and in 2000 it was published as my first novel, No Commitment Required.
So I believe in the power of words. I believe in dreams. Yes, they can be deferred or changed, but they should never be set aside. Everyone should take the opportunity to live their dream. I’m living mine now.
How about you? Are you living your dream, or have you deferred it? What are you doing to make your dream a reality? Comment below for a chance to when an electronic copy of Shadow Blade, the first book of my urban fantasy series Shadowchasers! Contest open to US residents and format will be a gift download in winner’s preferred bookstore format (Amazon/Kindle, Kobo, B&N, BAM).
Seressia Glass is an award-winning author of more than twenty contemporary and paranormal romance and urban fantasy stories. Her current series (Shadowchasers, Sons of Anubis) are steeped in Egyptian mythology. She lives north of Atlanta with her guitar-wielding husband and two attack poodles. When not writing, she spends her free time people-watching, belly dancing, and watching anime.
Excerpt from Shadow Blade, Shadowchasers, book one
“Kira,” Demoz rose to his feet as they entered. “You do know how to make an entrance.”
“You know what they say, Demoz. If you’re going to do it, do it in style.”
“True, true.” The big man regarded her, his skin black as tires and just as thick. If the Michelin Tire Man had been dipped in tar–and dressed by Armani–Demoz would be his twin. The only traces of color on his plump body were the thin silver stripes in the fabric of his very expensive suit.
“Tell me what’s going on. It’s not like you to be so blatant when you visit. You are obviously on a mission. What information are you looking for today?”
“You already know why I’m here,” she said, keeping a tight lock on her mental shields. It was one thing to allow Demoz to feed off the emotional reaction she caused; it was quite another to let him feed off her directly. If she showed any sort of expressive display, he’d work the gap until it opened wide and the feelings flowed freely–like a blood vampire sending anticoagulants into a vein.
“I can do many things, Kira, but reading the thoughts behind your gorgeous brown eyes isn’t one of them. Our usual meetings happen on Thursdays. What couldn’t wait until then?”
“The same as always. Information.”
Demoz raised an eyebrow, his steel-gray eyes curious, guarded. “What information couldn’t wait until our regular meeting?”
“Someone unleashed a seeker demon tonight.”
“A seeker demon?”
“Yeah.” Kira had noted the slight widening of his eyes before he’d spoken. Of course Demoz knew something. Demoz always knew something. She tried a test. “The Commission lost a handler tonight.”
“How terrible for you,” Demoz clucked, his sympathetic tone completely at odds with the assessing glint of his eyes. “I felt the moment of his passing. A tragedy. Was it someone you knew?”
“This is my territory,” Kira continued, ignoring his question. “A seeker demon killed the handler, but none of the skanks around here are strong enough to manage a seeker demon, are they?”
“Of course not, which makes me wonder if your information is indeed correct.”
“It’s an unimpeachable source,” Kira stated. “Who’s strong enough to control a seeker demon, Demoz?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really?” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Are you telling me that when you felt the moment of his passing, you knew he was a male handler but you couldn’t tell it was slain by the hands of a seeker demon? You’re getting sloppy in your old age.”
The vampire’s eyes tightened. “I haven’t reached old age yet.”
“But you certainly want to, right?” It wasn’t a threat, not really.
“Kira, you’re the most pragmatic of the Chasers I’ve known. I have little doubt that you’d dispatch me if my usefulness waned.”
“Not without a reason.” She cocked her head, studying the outwardly complacent vampire. “Is there a reason?”
“Hardly. I enjoy life too much to get on the wrong side of any of my clients.”
Kira noted his hesitation. “But?”
“But.” Demoz sighed. “Something’s going on. I don’t yet know what it is, but all signs point to a heavy hitter coming to town.”
Demoz actually looked over his shoulder, as if her saying the word would call the being out. He nodded.
“What do the Fallen want? Why is one of them here in its Avatar host?”
“They’re tracking something. No one will say what or who it is, but they’ve got grunts all over the place looking for information. All I do know is that your opposition’s nervous and when they get nervous–”
“Bad stuff happens.” She suppressed a sigh. “The question is, how bad is bad?”