1.      A publication referred to me as G. Kyle in their new writers section.  Not Kyle, but G. Kyle.  It made me feel weird.

2.      Second (and probably most important) a different editor told me that using my first initial made me sound haughty and distant, but my writing wasn't literary enough to be snobbish.  Seeing her point, I dropped the G. 

Will I go back to G. Kyle White one day?  I don't know.  Depends on how much money someone is willing to pay me - J.  For now, I'm just plain ole Kyle White; however, I am keeping my web address and email gkylewhite since plain ole kyle white isn't available. 

Now, Some Bragging:

I am the father of two talented children.

Lucas is a gifted musician who plays Bluegrass music. You should hear him on the fiddle and, my favorite, the mandolin.  He took to music at an early age.  His mother played country music to him as a baby, and he would 'dance' up and down as she held him.  I swear this kid was attracted to musical instruments before he could even walk.  Now, he tours Texas with his grandparents in their RV attending Bluegrass festivals.  And I am not bragging when I say Luke the Drifter (so named because he 'drifts' from band to band at the jam sessions) is a hit with the blue-haired crowd.  I swear the kid needs to sell a CD, but his grandfather says Lucas needs to be more humble and practice more (what do I know?  I have no musical talent). 

Jacob is an artist (he writes and draws some of the wickedest comic books) and has created his own Pokemon-like world called Moon-mon.  This kid got a double dose of imagination from his mother and me.  A cartoon junkie, Jacob develops some of the most interesting board games, imaginative play, and merchandise that I have ever seen.  I have boxes full of his inventions.  My favorite is a ray gun made from a soda bottle, tape, and a cardboard tissue paper holder.  Talk about seeing things through a different set of eyes!

I feel blessed to have both of them in my life.  In their own ways, each of them are the true inspiration for me working to establish a career in writing. 
Next, the Meat of our Story:

I have a pretty good idea of when I first  knew that I wanted to be a writer.

Every Saturday night, my Mother, Father, Ferdinand (my Dad’s extremely overweight dachshund) and I would drive from the small North Texas town of Bells (pop. 707) to the big city of Sherman (pop. about 20,000) to buy groceries.

We all had our routines:

Dad went into Gibson’s (think Super Wal-Mart, but not so super) where he purchased a bag of popcorn and an orange soda. He then returned to the car to wait. He would pour half of the bag into the floorboard and fill a small Dairy Queen ice-cream cup with the soda. Ferdinand proceeded to devour his share of the weekly goodies.

Mom pushed a cart up and down each aisle, buying almost the exact same items each week. It’s not that she was unimaginative, but my Dad was a self-employed barber, so money was tight. Mom had to feed a family of four (my older brother still lived at home) on $50 a week. Not an easy task, so variety wasn’t always possible.

I visited Gibson’s display of books and magazines. In my memory, the place was as big as any mega bookstore today. Yet, I have a feeling it was no more than a few racks in a back corner.

I used my weekly allowance to buy Creepy and Eerie magazines (I have always loved horror stories), and Mad, Cracked, Sicko, and Crazy magazines. In fact, I still have most of them, some of which are worth a bit of money according to Ebay.

I also bought scifi and horror books.  Too many in fact to read all of them, so they stacked up in my room.  However, there was one particular book that caught my imagination and sparked in me the desire to be a writer.
 
I cannot say why Stephen King’s book of short stories, Night Shift, had that effect.  I have re-read the book several times trying to understand the original magic.  Of all the other books that I had read in my life, no other had caused me to think, “Man, what a great job to get paid to write stories. Now, that’s the good life.”

Throughout my teens and 20’s I wrote. My stories appeared in local newspapers (thank you Donna Hunt of the former Denison Herald and the folks at the Wrightwright Sun who just didn’t know how to say no), and I wrote for the student newspaper at East Texas State University (now Texas A&M – Commerce, but I’ll always think of the place as ETSU). But the crowning achievement of my young career came when I published my first fiction short story in Cemetery Dance magazine. That was one of the happiest days of my life. My ex-wife even threw me a party. Talk about knowing you had hit the gravy train.

I submitted more stories that year – all of which were rejected. I even wrote half of a horror novel. But about the time I turned 26, I stopped writing. I can not tell you why. There was no major horrible event that scarred me (that would happen later). I can not pin point a single time during which I said “to hell with writing.” I just stopped. 

 During the next 15-years, I survived a brain tumor and a Staph infection that almost killed me twice.  I also lived through a nasty divorce.  Any of those events should have been enough to rekindle my writing spirit, but nothing happened.  

 I kept a nightly journal, but it was just an old-fashioned blog about my day. It was in no way creative, and I didn’t even try to fool myself that I was a writer. Now that I think about all the time I wasted, I want to kick myself. It was as if the voice inside my head who had once said “Hey, if all these people can write a book, so can you” had moved out, with no forwarding address.  I wasn't even smart enough to mourn his departure.

Finally, the Big Conclusion! 

In 2006, I did a stupid thing. While driving the company car to visit clients, I locked the keys inside of it. I was a far distance from the office, but luckily my boss had a meeting in the same area. She agreed to bring me the second set of keys, but I would have to wait at least an hour for her to arrive.
As I sat in the lobby of the building, I looked for ways to pass the time. There were newspapers and magazines on the tables around me, but none looked interesting. Instead, I flipped open my note pad and began to write.

That story evolved into a novel. I thought that novel was damned good until I joined the DFW Writers' Workshop. From those seasoned pros, I learned the novel needed help (I'm still rewriting it). But what I started that day has not ended. I rediscovered my love of writing, and the voice has not only moved back into my head, but he wants to redecorate.

Today, I have a second career as a freelance writer and photographer of magazine and newspaper articles. Along the way, I am also honing my fiction. I know there is at least one – heck, really hundreds – of books inside of me.  I just have to learn the best way to let them all out.   

If you have read this far, I thank you. Contact me sometime at gkylewhite@yahoo.com and let's talk.  I really enjoy meeting fellow writers, or readers who just enjoy good stories.