Ireland
Von Mueller
I love words. The way they weave themselves together to form stories, how they have the power to transport you anywhere and everywhere; entire worlds at my fingertips.
I spent my youngest years in a small Canadian farm town, running through hay fields and exploring the woods behind our house. At seven, I wrote my first book, a wandering story about a silver horse and a cat titled "The Longest Adventure." My teacher, Mrs. Ferguson, lovingly bound it between wallpaper-wrapped cardboard and presented it to me as my first published book.
The author's bio says I "enjoy dancing and writing stories." It also says, "When I grow up, I hope to become a dancer." But I never wanted to be a dancer; I was just too scared to admit the truth...the only thing I have ever wanted is to write.
At eleven, I attempted to write my first "novel" about the shenanigans of two girls who meet on summer vacation and discover they look like twins. I made it to chapter nineteen before the story lost its way. As, I suppose, did I.
Clumsy and uncoordinated, I stopped dancing. My parents divorced. We moved to Mexico, where I traded hay fields and forests for deserts and beaches. I was enrolled in distance learning. Everything changed, but I never stopped writing. That is, until a grade eleven teacher told me, "Everyone wants to be a writer, but very few succeed, and those who do don't make a living at it." I put down my pen.
In 2016, while thru-hiking the 3,000-kilometer Te Araroa trail across New Zealand, I was struck, like lightning, with the idea for Clementine Lemons. It started with the name Clementine Lemons—an ordinary girl with a magic box. Over the weeks, the ideas kept coming. I’d love to say I made them up, but the ideas came fully formed…out of the Aether, maybe, and straight into my brain. Not coherent. Not in a linear form. Bits and pieces of a long and convoluted timeline, swimming around in my head.
I’d love to say I got right to work. But the story felt too big and impossible for someone as normal and unextraordinary as me. After all, everyone wants to be a writer, but very few succeed. Clementine and Andro’s story spent longer than I care to admit on sticky notes and scraps of paper as I tried to make sense of it, to convince myself I could.
The problem with a story like Clementine is that it never leaves. It festers below the surface, slowly eating at you. I saw Clementine sitting at the bus stop. I wandered past a house in Victoria, knowing that was where she lived. On vacation, I saw Clementine adventuring through the canyons of Utah, the geography reminiscent of Acirrassi, where Clem finds the Water Stone. Over the years, I collected her story in images, brochures, and jotted notes. And then, one day, when I realized I would drive myself insane if I didn’t write her story, I opened a Word doc and began to type.
Maybe Clementine and Andro are bigger than me, but I will not stop until their story is written.
I currently live in the Okanagan Valley with my husband, Carl, and my rescue kitty Rigby. I have a degree in Environmental Science. An avid backpacker and explorer of wild places, I draw inspiration from my adventures, nature, and my insatiable curiosity.