“Purveyor of the written word, Nancy Loyan has been writing, since penning picture books for fellow students in elementary school.”
This is a fact. I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t writing. For me, writing has always been like breathing. It is something that I have always done, and will always do.
Though the years, it has proven successful … and not.
I’m often asked why I write. Thus, the reason I decided to write this series of blogs.
I still have the picture books (somewhere) that I composed in childhood. They were like comic books, or Manga. Sketched figures and setting, with characters speaking in “bubbles,” with description below. In Junior high, I progressed to writing romantic short stories for friends. During high school, at Warrensville Heights Senior High, I took a creative writing class with Fred Snook. I was in my element. The final was to be the completion of a short story. Of course, I have an issue with writing anything short. For the final, I turned in a 400 page historical saga. Reluctantly, Mr. Snook read it, and gave me a good grade.
College had me writing more term papers, than novels. I excelled at writing papers. During a business communications class, my writing ability garnered me attention and “A’s,” but ruined my love life. I was one of two girls in a class full of hunky jocks. Lucky? Not. When the professor, Dr. John Michael, started passing out my papers “Anonymously” (right … when I was the only one who didn’t get a paper returned), as being the best, the guys in the class started getting snarky. Getting one-upped by a woman bruised their egos. They stopped talking to me, ignored me, and were rude. It grew worse, when we we had an assignment about the World Football League, and I had the best paper “ever written.” Needless to say, I was shunned by the jocks. They preferred to date an airhead in the dorm room across from mine. Alas …
After college, I joined the work force, but stayed up until the wee hours of the evening, writing novels on my manual Smith Corona typewriter. I sent out manuscripts to agents and editors. Though rejected, I received enough positive input to keep me writing.
My mother used to comment, “Why are you wasting your time writing? No one is ever going to read anything you write.”
I persevered. Writers write.
(To be continued)