The Beginning

The first memory I have of wanting to be a writer was when I was in high school. I think I was a sophomore.

One day in English class we had to write a paragraph and draw a picture that described what we wrote.

I rememeber being excited because an author was there to read our paragraph and give us feedback.

I was heartbroken when she said mine was terrible so I erased it and started over.

“Don’t ever erase what you wrote because you might use it later,” she told me.

That’s all I remember. I don’t know if I finished or not or if she liked it or not.

Let’s back up to grade school.

I loved the library and I loved to read. My mom read to me when I was little and sometimes we went to the library.

I loved going to the library after school to pick out book. When I was in 3rd or 4th grade I remember being in awe of all of the books in the library. Every book was written by a person. I remember thinking maybe I could write a book some day.

In Jr. high or high school I would go to the library and pick out a ton of books and bring them all home. I would never read them all, but it felt so good have them next to my bed every day.

I loved books. They were stories about peoples lives. I loved reading about them and I would get lost in them. I didn’t care if they were made up or not.

I don’t remember what grade I was in but I rememeber the teacher asking me after reading my book report if I was having problems at home because of the book I used for my book report. I was surprised. I couldn’t talk about the problem (my sister ran away from time to time) to any one so I read.

After this I knew I wanted to help people. I wanted to share my story to help people. At this point I don’t remember writing being in the equation. I just knew wanted to help people. I think it was in jr. high and I wanted to be a counselor.

This probably doesn’t make much sense to you. I’m just trying to remember.

thanks for reading.