Cynthia Hamilton


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Cynthia Hamilton

The Road to Storyville: Author S.S. Bazinet

There are some writers who bring so much to the table besides good storytelling. You know instinctively they’ve come about their unique perspective the hard way, whether through their own challenging times or through observing the suffering of others. I’m not saying you have to suffer for the sake of writing, but seeing a larger spectrum of human emotions can broaden the scope of your writing.

When I picked up “Dying Takes It Out of You”, I knew right away was in very capable hands. The language was so compelling, it felt more like I was watching a scene unfold before my eyes rather than reading a story. When I saw all the books this author had penned, I realized that if anyone was ever destined to be a writer, it was this woman. So, it came as such a surprise to me to learn how hard she had to struggle to get to the point in her life where she could open the levee and let her wonderful imagination run wild.

Something S.S. Bazinet shared with me has stuck, unseating my trepidation about putting my own books out in the public domain. “I feel that each book that I’ve written has been a gift. Call it my muse, my soul or heart or whatever, I feel like something outside of the ‘ordinary me’ inspired just about every word on every page. So, we’re not promoting ourselves. We’re promoting the gifts we’ve been given—our books.”

Her story of how she finally came to writing makes me realize how many people out there feel the passionate desire to write, yet don’t have the confidence to try. I hope her story will unleash the same kind of magic in others!

It’s my sincerely pleasure to give you S.S. Bazinet’s story of how she became a writer:

When asked about becoming a writer, I had to query the question itself. I suppose that as soon as I was taught to put a pencil to paper, I became a writer. Of course, at that point, I was just a little girl who was being taught to write the alphabet. Still, I think that act of making marks on paper, marks that meant something, had a big impression on me. When I learned to write words, that was another step. It was a very big step.

Learning to read came next. I was taught that those marks on paper could convey a story. And my goodness, I loved stories. Stories opened up entire new worlds, worlds that I’d never known existed. I couldn’t get enough of those new worlds and adventures. I remember being a teenager who was always reading, and my mother being frustrated. I had chores to do, and I was neglecting them. When my mom asked me to do something, I always had an excuse. “Please, Mom, just let me finish this book, and then I’ll dust the furniture.” Mom often let me get away with my excuse. She could be such a sweet person when it came to me and my chores. Maybe she could see how happy I was when I was caught up in my reading.

Much later in life, when I was going through some very difficult times, I turned to stories again. But this time, I wanted to write the stories not just read them. I had so many unhappy feelings inside, and I didn’t know how to deal with them directly. By letting a story unfold on paper, a story about someone else, my feelings were expressed and some of my internal pressures were released.

I wish I could say that writing stories at that time in my life “fixed” something. But it didn’t happen that way. Life and its difficulties continued. However, there were benefits to those early days of writing. I really enjoyed the time I spent with my stories. Those were happy moments of escape. I also contemplated the concept of being a “writer.” Then life went on.

It took many years before I seriously took up the pen again. It took years for me to take a chance on myself. For me, the two things are related.

As I struggled along in life, I didn’t have any confidence in myself. I thought I needed someone else to feel secure. However, as hard as I clung to that belief, life refused to let me think that someone else was going to “save” me from my fears. In fact, the situation I was in demonstrated something very important, even crucial. If I didn’t have faith in myself, my life would get a lot worse. And it did.

At one point, I felt like all the stress and worry I was going through would result in my physical body failing. That’s when I had to make a decision. I had to take a chance on myself or face losing my emotional and physical health.

Thankfully, I decided to take a chance on me. And what a blessing that was. Some might call it grace or perhaps it’s one’s soul essence, but whatever the label, something gave me new strength. Once I gave myself the freedom to let go, my life changed. Little by little, I learned how strong and capable I was.

I began to write again, but it was a start and stop process, especially after I attended a writing class. The instructor took a look at a little story I was writing and practically red-lined the whole thing. I still didn’t have enough of myself to survive that blow. I stopped writing for quite some time. And even when I did try jotting down some stories, my mind was like that instructor, telling me that I wasn’t good enough.

Slowly, I reached another juncture in my life as a writer. I was tired of trying and being shot down by that critical part of myself. That’s when I decided to just have fun with writing. I didn’t care if anyone else thought it was good. I didn’t care what my “inner critic” thought. I surrendered to just enjoying the process.

And that decision was the key to all the books I’ve written and published. When I allowed a deeper part of myself to take over, the heart and soul of who I am, I was inspired to happily continue on my journey as a writer.

Where to find S.S. Bazinet:





Amazon Author page: