The Cliff Notes
Hi there. It’s nice to meet you 
My name’s Cody.
First thing you should know about me: I’m obsessed with stories. I can’t get enough of them. Which usually means you’ll find me with a book in my hand or whispering over my shoulder to one of my characters. This gives me some trouble sometimes but what can you do when you’re a writer?
I write because I’m happier when I do. Some of my best days are when I’ve figured out how to use the right words to describe a particular thought, emotion, or action. I can’t get enough of it.
When I’m not writing I like taking aimless walks for concerning amounts of hours because being around nature keeps me as sane as writing (there’s a connection there, I’m sure). Coffee shops have a particular appeal as well. Something about eavesdropping on other people’s conversations gets my cogs working. I can spend all day there.
The Novel
Even though my dad is a writer, I didn’t always know I wanted to be one. His creativity gave me license to venture off to the faraway lands of my imagination, but I never imagined putting words onto paper as he did.
For many years, I struggled with the word creativity, thinking I had none. I can’t draw, I’m tone-deaf, my hips lie, and my acting is cringe-worthy. But for as long as I can remember, stories enthralled me. When I think of my childhood, two stories come to mind: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter.
Once my mom finally let me watch Buffy, I never left the T.V. screen. The characters felt so real. The storyline felt so believable (even though it was about vampires and demons and witchcraft). The drama unfolded like spools of twine, getting tangled, bunched up, and inevitably unraveling into smooth strands. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Somebody wrote this?
I felt the same about Harry Potter. How was I able to see everything she was writing? How come the story felt so compelling? How does somebody write something like this? It felt like sorcery.
I started crafting a story of my own. A long, extravagate one that mirrored all my favorite inspirations. I was fourteen at the time. When I tried to write it down, I found it incredibly difficult, far tougher than I imagined, so I quit. I wasn’t creative enough.
Later in my early twenties – around the time most people start asking the big life questions – I came back to the idea of writing. After all, I loved a good story. I tried again, finding it just as difficult as I remembered, but this time instead of quitting, I turned to books for help. I started reading everything and anything I could get my hands on. I discovered some favorite authors. I poured over their work. I kept trying. When I wanted to quit, I read books like Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert and On Writing by Stephen King (among others). I kept at it. Over time, I crossed the non-creative hurdle. I started looking at creativity differently. I saw it as more than just thinking up elaborate storylines and creating compelling characters. I saw it as dancing with inspiration, allowing the odd things inside you to come out, and studying the craft. In the process, I’ve grown a fondness for words. I enjoy their delicacy and pliability. I geek out over their ability to create imagery. I love how they make me feel. Much of my time now is spent piecing them together, contemplating correct combinations, and telling fascinating stories.
Now I’m here, grappling with life’s challenges just like everyone else, but turning to stories to make sense of it all.
I’ll never know where life will take me. I only hope there’s a pen and paper there.
Much love,
