“Inspiration is Everywhere”
Christy the Writer
Take my hand.
I am your friend.
Noah’s life was spared in the flood, but he wasn’t spared from seeing the flood, from hearing the cries of those swept away by the waters…
“Why, yes, it’s just the rain, the rain, always the rain…”
Tonight, as I’m looking out at the dark prairie and vast night sky which has a way of restoring my mind to its factory settings, and I’m able to find the joy in all of it.
New York is my city, my happy place, yet today I was going there for an unhappy reason.
I’m a writer.
I was going to leave it at that because that’s pretty much how I introduce myself to everyone, but I’m told I need to say more than that here or it will look weird. So let’s see what I’ve got…
I’m Christy Potter, a longtime newspaper journalist. A few years ago I started writing books full time and although I loved it, life did that shifty thing it sometimes does right under my feet and I now find myself a full-time graduate student. I’m attending seminary, working on a Master of Divinity degree and pursuing ordination in the Presbyterian Church. And of course, I’m still writing. Regardless of where my path goes once I’m finished with school and ordained, I’m a writer. That will always be an important part of the work I do because it’s who I am. It’s what I am.
I live in Pennsylvania’s beautiful Lehigh Valley. I am not a native of this area but I find it suits my temperament and I like being halfway between New York City and Philadelphia. Also they make Crayola Crayons here, which is good because I’m always breaking the tips off mine.
I’m married with 2.5 cats, a Mercedes that was born before I graduated high school, and a closet full of neuroses that I like to think enrich my writing even if they annoy everyone else. I love craft beer, British comedies, John Updike, Jonathan Franzen, and Lisa Simpson. I’m a weird combination of introvert and extrovert, outspoken and don’t-talk-to-me.
So as I was saying, I’m a writer.
I have written four books that are available for purchase directly from me, or from Amazon. All are available in paperback or e-book format. Click on the book covers below for more information about the books, and for secure ordering information. If you have questions or special requests, please drop me a note at Christy@ChristytheWriter.com.
If you read any of my books, I hope you’ll consider leaving your honest feedback as a review on Amazon and / or Goodreads. Reviews help get the word out about my books, as they do for any author, and I appreciate the support. And of course, I also hope you’ll recommend me to a book-loving friend.
My newest book, just released at the end of this summer, is “The Bacchae.” It’s a modernized retelling of the Greek myth of Dionysus, born to Zeus and a mortal woman named Semele. You don’t have to know the myth to read this book (it’s a question I get almost every day) as the characters stand on their own. But the idea for this story came to me after reading the original play, “The Bacchae,” by Euripides.
The character of Dionysus is called Dax in my book, the son of Zachary, a high-powered New York City newspaper publisher, and Sarah, his star reporter. Except for a brief glimpse in the introduction, Dax does not really appear in the book until more than half way through, although he’s around. But when he does show up, in the flesh, he’s hard to miss.
Here’s the thing about Dax: he is based on the mythological figure of Dionysus, and if you know your mythology, you know that Dioynsus is basically the Charlie Sheen of the gods. And if you don’t know your mythology, well, you’ve been warned. Dax is irreverent, uninhibited, untethered, unafraid, and a little unhinged. But he’s also human, and in the earlier parts of his life, you’ll get to know the sweet, precocious boy who is just trying to figure stuff out. If you hate him by the time he’s an adult, well, you won’t be the first. And if you hate and love him both, congratulations – he got you.
As for me, I love Dax. He’s my problem child. He’s the reason I approached the keyboard with genuine trepidation every morning, because I never really knew what he was going to get up to that day. I had my own ideas for him, of course, and most days he just laughed in my face. But I found myself going with the flow, seeing where he took me, getting to know him on a level in which only the luckiest writers get to connect with a character. Is Dax me? Yes. And no. Is Dax you? Is Dax all of us? You tell me.