The Story behind the Stories

Most people tell me that romance and ‘smut’ doen’t make me a writer, and I fell like that’s their (wrong) opinion. The truth is, I’ve been a storyteller all of my life.

I’m not the best when it comes to remembering what I had for breakfast, or what I did yesterday but I have very vivid memories of laying in bed with my grandmother when I was very young. We would lay there for hours, just talking about our days and telling each other stories. My grandmother was paralyzed from the waist down but that didn’t stop her from living and helping my mind grow. I remember her favorite shows on T.V. would air at certain times of the day, so I knew that if I wanted to spend time with her, I would have to sit quietly until those shows were over. I remember sitting in the bed with her, or on her lap, reading Dr. Seuss books that she bought for me. She always encouraged me to bring a new book from the school library too, and it wasn’t long before I had befriended the librarian in my elementary school.

Sometimes, when her shows were over she would ask me to read the books to her or sit closer so we could read them together. Those are some of my favorite memories that I will always cherish. My grandmother was my best friend when I was a child, and if I didn’t have a book she would always ask me to make up a story to tell her. When I would start making believe and stop to think of something else to add to my tales, she wouldn’t hesitate to give me an idea of where to take my story next. It was always so much fun to come up with all of these things together and it’s something that I continued to do once she was gone.

That’s the happy side of my tale. I’d like to sit here and say that my life was always that cheerful and memorable, but it isn’t. Unfortunately, I didn’t have many friends growing up who stuck around. We grew up in a small town and it always seemed like everyone knew everyone and there was no room for me in friend circles that were already established. I had my neighbor, who I still talk to her today, but she was younger than me so we never saw each other during school hours. Since I had made friends with the librarian so early on in my life, I would often skip recess and sneak into the library instead. I’d sometimes have to be tracked down by my teachers because I would be so silent, they would forget I was hiding somewhere with a book. I think I was the reason the school upped the number of books to be checked out by one student at a time from three to five.

Middle school was no better, and I befriended that librarian, too. It wasn’t until I had gone to that school for two years that I began to fit in with the ‘outcasts’ - who were just as strange as me and I loved my group of friends fiercely, but I still loved books more. They would often look for me during lunch hour to no avail, but once again, I was tucked away inside a book somewhere. I also grew up riding horses, so we were on the road every weekend. We traveled to many different states to race in events and I always brought books with me for those trips.

I also have fond memories of my half-sister joining an AR reading contest and bringing home Junie B. Jones or R.L. Stine books she needed to read over the weekends. She was always surprised to wake up and find that I had read the whole stack, while she struggled to read one in a day.

After every book that I finished, there was always a part of me that would start to spin the stories in my own way. I would always close the book, set it aside and then sit to think about what I would change or why something happened one way and not the other. No one really wanted to listen to me explain an entire book and then follow it up by saying, “But here’s what I think should have happened.” So I started keeping a notebook with me and over the summers, I would write until my hand cramped and my sisters or neighbor would tell me to ride bikes with them. I’d always take a break and go right back to my story to see what I could dream up next.

When I grew up, I lost that part of me for a long time. Several years passed that I didn’t read a book, and I had moved. All of my notebooks were lost over time, and so were those stories and worlds that I had created over time. It wasn’t until 2021, when my husband and I had moved into our second family home that I found my spark again. Once day, I was cleaning out my closet and happened to find an old, single subject notebook. The pages were crumpled, and some of them were water-damaged but I recognized my ugly handwriting. I could tell the story was written quickly, and I was hurrying to get the idea on paper before I forgot a single detail. Still to this day, I haven’t finished a rough draft of that book, but I plan to.

I’ve had a million ideas since I read through that notebook, and I’ve started writing at least a dozen of those stories too. But none of them stuck with me until 2023. See, I grew up and went to college but didn’t start using my degree until later in life. One day, I was sitting at my desk and my co-worker was telling me about a book she read. She said it was so awful, she was struggling to finish it. I thought she was being too harsh and that maybe that author just wasn’t for her. So I downloaded Kindle Unlimited and blew through probably 100 audiobooks in six months. Every day I went to work, I was listening to a book. Then, after work, I would stay up late and read on my phone or Kindle, and it just hit me.

I should be writing.

The next morning, I told my husband that I want to start writing again and he saw that spark in me as I talked about it. I told him about the notebook I found in my closet and he has told me so many times about the light and excitement he saw in me that day. So, he bought me a laptop with enough memory in it to last me a lifetime. That’s when I started reading romance novels. The girls at work were more than happy to give me recommendations. They even had a group chat dedicated to what they were reading, and they were thrilled to add someone else to that chat. Still, after all of the reading and all of the stories I started, I still hadn’t finished a single one. I even took off work a few times and went to sit in local coffee shops to write, always spending more time creating characters than actual stories.

Then 2024 came and it all changed. I woke up one morning and said, “I have an idea.” Thankfully, it was a weekend because I spent the entire day outlining a story, but not on my laptop. No, no, no. I wrote it the old-fashioned way, baby. I filled up nearly an entire notebook and then took it to my husband that night and said, “Read this.” His eyes were huge as he flipped page after page, reading this story that I had come up with in a single day. He finished it and turned to me, asking when I was going to make this a REAL book, and I told him: I don’t know how to do that. I researched all year trying to figure it out and finally got my answers. I sat down to write that book on my laptop, but couldn’t get those words to flow how I wanted.

I was so frustrated with myself because WHY? Why could I not finish a single thing that I started writing? I opened one new document after another, writing a few sentences in each one and saving them over and over again. They are all different books that I have half-written now. Then, out of the blue, I did it again. I woke up, rolled out of bed and went straight to my laptop. I think that’s the day I developed carpal tunnel because I wrote all day and night. Now, here we are. It’s nearing the end of 2025 and I’m sweating bullets every day because I gave myself a strict deadline. Finish a book, and hit publish. See, the story was finished a long time ago; I just didn’t have the courage to tweak it and fix what was broken on those pages. Not until I saw a TikTok that said, “What if you fail? What if you succeed?” That sound replays in my mind every day. Because what if I keep writing and someone out there actually likes my stories?

I guess the stories have always been in me, and I’ve always had the support to write them. I just didn’t believe in myself until now. Something about this year has really pushed me to grow and become who I want to be. And who I want to be is a published author. That’s why, in December of 2025, I plan to release my debut novel, A New Year’s Ride. A book that I’m sure I will regret pushing out too quickly, and will want to rewrite at some point in my life, but I’m going to publish it anyway. Not only am I going to publish it, but I have already started book two. So, yes. I will have a series. Because, baby, we aren’t just going to achieve our dreams around here; we are going to surpass my own expectations.

So, that’s it. That’s what lies behind the stories, for me. If you want to share your story with me, I’d love for you to reach out. I love meeting people and hearing about their walks of life.

Remeber to stay Wylde,

XOXO

Elmira