Because I Want To

Believe it or not, it’s 2013 and this is my inaugural blog. I thought I should formally introduce myself. I write as Kennedy Ryan, but will tell you up front that my name is Tina Dula. I live in Atlanta, and have for 19 years. Geesh, I’m feeling old. That’s a great segue into my next tidbit about myself. At 41, I was just offered a 3-book deal from a major publisher. Now, I’d scream the details from the rooftops if I could right here and now, but I can’t do that yet. Gotta wait til the ink’s dry on the contract. I only mention that because it’s a big part of my journey.

I’ve lived my whole life, it seems, doing things I had to do. I had to get a job right out of college. When my son was diagnosed with Autism and my husband was laid off THE NEXT DAY, I had to keep a job with benefits to handle the mammoth medical and therapy bills. I had to figure out how to help my sweet baby who seemed to have been body snatched. My family needed that from me, and I needed to give it. And as we navigated what was the darkest, hardest decade of my life – maritally, socially, emotionally, financially (good grief, more about this in later posts) – I begin to feel like I had to do something for other families. I was burdened by it, so I established a non-profit organization for families living with Autism.

When I turned 39, I realized something. My life was this huge collage – a beautiful, albeit-in-places-ragged-and-torn collage – of “had tos.” Of course, we as women, as moms, as wives – we recognize these roles as privileges (eventually! LOL!). And I’ve always known I wanted to be a philanthropist in some way. I just didn’t know how. Autism cemented a path for an urge I’d always had to give back. I loved my husband, adored my son, and felt a huge sense of fulfillment from the work I did for families living with Autism, but there was very little in my life that was FOR ME.

Writing is for me.

I talked early. Read early. Enjoy public speaking. Anything around words and language, has always come naturally to me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve told stories.

For me.

One of my earliest memories is being out on my grandmother’s car port with a mop (my heroine with long hair), acting out the stories in my head. Other kids were playing hop scotch or looking at television or off playing with sticks (your options were limited in the country! LOL!). Not me. I was content for hours making up stories with that mop.

At some point, I thought maybe I wanted to tell TRUE stories, so I majored in Journalism at UNC-Chapel HIll (Go, Heels!). But every semester, I took creative writing courses or literature courses, even though I had placed out of English and didn’t have to. I wanted to.

Later in life, when I was drowning in medical bills, therapy appointments and depression as we struggled to figure out this life with Autism, I really needed something just for me. Something that would transport me to an easier place than my life. So I started telling stories again. Just for me. Up late at night, I’d write. And finally, I had a full length novel. And it was pretty good, but there were so many things I had to do, I never did anything with if.

My “had to” epiphany came when I was 39, and decided it was time for me to pursue the biggest “want to” of my life. I had written another novel (can’t wait to tell you about how that happened later!), and I believed it had potential. Why not? Why not just step out there and see what happened? I got serious about it. In the midst of working a full time job, raising and caring for a special needs child, being a good wife and mediocre housekeeper, and resourcing as many families living with Autism as I could – I joined a writer’s group. The Georgia Romance Writers. I’d zip into meetings, and often have to zip out before it was over. They probably thought I was so rude. I was just so BUSY! But I carved out time for it, and I had to believe it would pay off. It might take years, but it would be worth it.

Well, it hasn’t taken years. That was a year and a half ago, and I am on the cusp of sharing my stories with the world. My family has gone through a lot, and it puts everything in perspective. My happiness and self-worth aren’t riding on these books or on how they sell. (Really, want them to sell, though! LOL!) I have a strong sense of who I am, and it’s insulated by my faith and the love and acceptance of my family. Maybe I needed to know that before I started this part of my journey. And now is the right time. My dream – my poor, years-long neglected dream – has been to tell stories and share them with the world, and now I get to do just that.

And it’s for me. Because I want to.