The Birth of a Writer

by Kait Carson

For a dreamer lives forever. And a toiler dies in a day. John Boyle O Reilly

My mother used to say this to me. I think she considered it her motto. But I never knew what she dreamed of. I wish I had asked. Like many of her generation, she was schooled in poetry. To her dying day, she quoted entire poems, The “Charge of the Light Brigade” being a favorite, most anything by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Carl Sandburg. We lived on a river, and at certain times of the year, fog formed a wall between the banks. I never look at fog that I don’t see a gray cat, tail curled around its feet, floating in the mist. Her quotes were cryptic comments, but they’ve become clearer as they followed me through life.

Looking back on the dreamer quote, I think it was my mother’s way of encouraging me. I was a late child, born nine years after my only sibling. My parents were well into middle age at the time and unsure of what they needed to do about this tiny bundle of energy born when they thought their lives would be slowing and settling. The kids in my neighborhood were older and male. As the lone girl child, I needed some serious coping skills to keep up. I became an over-achieving daredevil of a kid. Nothing was too hard or too dangerous. To fail meant being left behind.

Add an overactive imagination, and learning to read at the tender age of two into the mix, and this girl-child had a setup for adventure. We built snow forts, igloos, and practiced skiing down snow-packed stairs. Yes. Stairs. We’d heard of the Tenth Mountain Division, and although we had little knowledge of the men who served with them, we invented battles and stories for our snowy play forts.

Then came Mark Twain. What better books for children growing up along a river? We lashed fallen branches together and built rafts, all of which met watery deaths. None of us did, though. I had the honor of being rescued by the tugboat captain once. I’m sure we were the bane of the bridge tenders' existence. Given we played in the Passaic River, I’m surprised we don’t glow in the dark! We paid homage to Tarzan by building platforms in trees and swinging out over the river on ropes. My parents took much of this in stride. They drew the line when I jumped out of the second-story window. I landed unbroken and unfazed, rescued the wagon train from Billy the Kid and had heck to pay when I knocked on the front door to be let back into my house. Ended up spending two weeks in my room. That would have been acceptable, but they took my books away.

I met Jo March about the same time most of my older friends were entering middle school. The difference in our ages became an insurmountable chasm. My endless imagination turned inward and emerged as words on the page. School always came easily. I excelled at the work. Math, science, and English all flowed effortlessly. My teachers were thrilled, but they all had one negative comment. She’s a dreamer, they would write on my report card. My parents attended more than one conference where teachers expressed frustration. Once I understood something, I lost interest in the rest of the class and scribbled stories. Stories I was forced to read aloud as punishment. One or two paragraph flights of fancy that often drew applause from my classmates.

My parents would come home from these meetings at a loss how to discipline me. My mother would say, “She’s a dreamer, Bill, and a dreamer lives forever, a toiler but a day.” I’m still a dreamer. Now my dreams take the form of books and short stories. Some of them sell, some do not, but they are all a part of me. Some, like this post, are deeply rooted in the heart of the child.

How about you? Are you a dreamer? Do you still follow your dreams?

Kait Carson writes the Hayden Kent Mysteries, set in the Fabulous Florida Keys, and is at work on a new mystery series set in her adopted state of Maine. Her short fiction has been nationally published in the True Confessions magazines and in Woman’s World. Kait’s short story, “Gutted, Filleted, and Fried”, appeared in the Silver Falchion Award nominated Guppy Anthology Hook, Line, and Sinker. Her nonfiction essay was included in the Agatha Award-winning book Writing the Cozy Mystery. She is a former President of the Guppy Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Sisters in Crime, and Guppies.