Art has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. Perhaps the earliest memory of myself as an artist is an afternoon I spent colouring in my new colouring book. I remember hating the way the line drawings didn’t go to the page edges, and continuing the drawings to the edges myself in spite of my grandmother’s protestation that what I was doing was wrong.
I grew up believing I would wind up working as an artist in some way, even though I knew my talent was more moderate than exceptional. After business school, I went to Ontario College of Art at tonight and still clung to the fantasy I would one day make a living as a painter. At the time, I was a temp receptionist—far from being an artist.
Years later, careers later, I would attend Ritins Studio to study old world paint techniques and eventually fulfilled my dream of getting paid for my art—though this painting wasn’t on canvas but on walls, ceilings, furniture. I worked as a decorative painter for years—right up until the time I decided to write one page of a novel. And then another…
I suppose it was only a matter of time until art and the life of a struggling artist made it into one of my books. Art is, in fact, central to the core of The Truth About Delilah Blue. It was important to me that Delilah be not only an aspiring artist, but someone filled with the extreme insecurity and self-doubt only a creative person can experience. She is 20 at the outset of the novel, an age when so many of us search for who we are, who we will be, and how we are separate from our parents. This way Delilah is vulnerable from the start. Now add in a past that has risen up and undone everything she thought she knew about herself and I had a heroine with a big enough problem to spend two years of my life writing about.