I must have wrote a million stories… none of which got published, most of which not worthy, but all were mine. Even before I knew how to write I would scribble my mother notes & later explain what they said. I have always had a big imagination. One that exceeds & never quite compares to this reality.
Both of my parents as well as my sister didn’t cross the stage. When I graduated high school. That was for them. My mother whom is extremely book smart never graduated high school. She accredits that to the “busing” that was going on in South Boston at the time. She went to Southie High & claims to have seen a girl get her ear bitten off. In her words, she said “oh hell no,” & went & got her G.E.D through City Roots.
My father on the other hand didn’t make it past 5th grade. His story is unique. Both of his parents are French Canadian born in Quebec. How he ended up in South Boston a predominantly Irish community in that time i have no clue, but laws were different back then & some how he was able to slip through the cracks.
My father is very street smart & great with manual labor, but to this day he still can’t read. He suffers from a learning disorder called dyslexia. As a child I remember wanting him to read to me & him getting upset. I just didn’t understand it. My mother explained it to me the best she could. What I took from it was that my dad couldn’t read & I was going to be the one to teach him. When that day came I have never seen him more offended. That’s the first time I seen my father cry. We never spoke about it again. If I couldn’t help him then I was going to help people/children like him.
^When my dad was “away” he would often send me pictures that his friends would draw. I loved them & kept them to this day. Often I would try to draw characters in their likeliness or draw one completely different & send it back. A tradition I came to love under the worst of circumstances. When the letters came in the mail addressed to me there was always one thing I noticed… my name was spelt wrong. It’s Stephanie with the “ph” not the “f”. This bothered my soul, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.
December 12, 2016 I am proud to say that I finally published my first novel. One that my father may never read & although I do not carry his last name. This book was written in his honor. My first name was given by him & if there’s one thing he would be able to read on the front cover is my name in big font.
(Also, I plan to include audio versions at some point for this reason.)
Everyone says “I have a lot to say,” this I believe because throughout life I have learned a lot in my short time & have always felt the need to share. I am a very prideful person. It doesn’t come naturally for me to ask for help or seek it. Therefore, I have always been a fan of self-help books, movies, etc…, but in disguise. A piece of art work that after watching or reading you can walk away with something. Something learned or a new prospective on life. Although, you can probably sum up the book in one sentence (ea. Don’t take life for granted), but those words are never spoken or used.
Instead written or acted out in an elaborate plot or scheme of things where you are left to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Each message is your own.
That is the same concept I applied to my own writing style. Although, it is about a woman, written for women it is not limited too. Mia Moore Money is one that I hope we all can learn from. A tale of love & money. Modern meets classic. I hope the message is received well!