Writing chose me

I started writing because it was something I could do. I was at home with my kids and other than taxiing them back and forth to school, I needed something to do. Something to help me feel accomplished. For a long time, I wanted to leave my mark on the world. I wanted to build something spectacular to help people. But more often than not, I find I am the one on the receiving end of such aid. I began reading architecture books thinking if I designed a building then there would be proof that I existed. But I found that becoming an architect would take me further from my goal long before I got closer.
I continued looking for things I could do to fulfill my personal need for accomplishment while still being home to provide support for my family. For a while I was stumped. I tried simple tasks, working from home on Amazon performing small jobs for small profits. It was a start but it wasn't enough.
The idea to write didn't even come to me. Then one night I had a dream. It was so realistic it was as if I had seen a movie. I dismissed the idea and went about my normal routine. The next night I had the same dream. It happened for days then weeks. Finally, I wrote down what was happening in the dream just to get it out of my head. When I look up, I had written over twenty thousand words. It had to mean something.
The dream didn't stop. It progressed. Next, instead of the same recurring dream, I saw further. I added the new information to my story. Over the next few weeks, I developed a routine of coming up with the story line in my sleep and typing it up during the day. I followed my dream to the letter. I kept parts I wished didn't happen. Even I didn't know exactly how the story would end. When I had written all I could, I sent the story off to my friends for their opinions. To my surprise, they actually enjoyed reading what I had written. But it wasn't finished. I had written a short story with its focus on one character.
For months, I left the story alone. I didn't know how to fix it. My dream only allowed me to focus on one person at a time. How could I possibly develop the others? So I did what I think most people would do in my situation, I asked my older sister. She told me what she liked about it and what she wanted to read more about. And like all good younger siblings, I followed her advice. I would focus on a different character and try to follow them through the whole story. Since I already knew what the main characters were doing I was able to develop their actions accordingly. By following these characters that at first bore no interest to me I learned a valuable lesson. Everyone has a story tell, even a fictional someone.
The result of my labors:
Calliope's Lost Life