AWARDWINNING AUTHOR

Kristi Gold

In all honesty, not once in my youth did I ever aspire to be a writer. During my formative years, my passion was dancing, from tap to jazz to ballet. Particularly ballet. From the age of six until I was approaching thirteen, I took lessons four days a week, sometimes two to three lessons per day. Add that to school, church choir and cheerleading practice, and my routine began to resemble a corporate mogul's hectic schedule. That routine began to take its toll not only on me, but on my mother as well—the designated chauffeur. Something had to give. I chose to quit ballet despite the fact that I had been moved to the "big girl's group" that year, one of two of the youngest students in a more advanced class. But I'd been on pointe for two years, my feet hurt constantly, the work was tough and required a huge effort just to keep up with the three classes a week. At the time, that choice seemed like a no-brainer, yet when the year-end recital came around—an elaborate event held at a college campus—I regretted the decision. After my tap and jazz rehearsals were over, I sat in the auditorium and watched the production of an act from Swan Lake. Had I chosen to remain in ballet, I would have been on that stage, wearing those "big girl" full-length tutus, sporting beautifully crafted make-up in the shape of swan's wings, and participating in the finale that always earned a standing ovation.

I cried that day, and that night after the recital. I felt as if I'd given up too quickly on a dream, choosing instead to take the easy way out. The path of least resistance. Shortly thereafter, I gave up dancing altogether, although I thought about it often, and wondered….

Twenty-some-odd years later, I embarked on another venture that unbeknownst to me would become another dream—writing. At first it was simply a whim; I'd always been a voracious reader, I'd possessed an active imagination in childhood and I was relatively good in English. Of course, I could just sit down and magically come up with something brilliant, right? Up to that point, for the most part I'd been a stay-at-home mom, owned a small dress shop managed by someone else, had served on the PTA board and volunteered at a women's shelter. I needed something more challenging in my life, as if raising three children wasn't enough. And believe me, composing a full-length novel without really knowing what I was doing became very challenging. But this time, I didn't give up, even though the road to publication took me seven years, several manuscripts and numerous rejections before I finally sold my first book in 1999. Whenever I was tempted to throw in that proverbial towel, I relied on the memory of sitting in that auditorium all those years ago, filled with regret for what might have been.

Many years have passed since I started my first book (that has never sold nor never will), a wondrous journey that has seen its ups and downs, heartache and hardship, delights and disappointments. I am still amazed that people actually pay to read my stories. I am still in awe when I receive a letter or an email from an appreciative reader. And I still have stories to tell. I've sold over twenty-five books to date, and I hope to sell at least twenty-five more. But if I never see another one of my releases on the shelves, I have no regrets. I no longer cry over what might have been, but celebrate what is to come. I have fulfilled my dreams, and I plan to keep right on dreaming.