I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl and fell in love with reading. I wanted to read way before parents were allowed to teach their kids anything about it before kindergarten and even first grade. My mom would read me my favourite books so much that I actually started to read a bit on my own. Once I learned to read in school, though, there was no holding me back. I remember driving with my parents and them asking me what a sign might say and I would patiently sound out each letter until the word seemed to appear in my head and burst out of my mouth. Every time my family would cheer and applaud me for my efforts.
I would read to my little sister most nights, giving her the stories I heard and loved. I would try to teach her to read while we played “Teacher”.
Writing came next and it seemed like a natural thing. I wrote plays for my family and friends to act in. Quite elaborate ones too. One of them I remember quite well because it was about a dragon (my dad) and the prince (my cousin, Freddy) having a battle over the princess, (my little sister, Colleen). I was the director. This all took place in the kitchen at our cottage at the beach. The dragon kept blowing fire at the prince and I kept yelling at the prince to put out the fire. Unfortunately, the prince got the bright idea to take a 5 gallon pail of water and throw it at the dragon, soaking everything in the kitchen. My mom was not happy and there were no more plays inside anymore. But I kept writing them.
I didn’t realize that I could write until 10th grade when our English teacher had us keep a journal which he read every night and marked or made comments. One day he gave us starter lines for creative writing and one of them was the one I picked “As the clock ticked…” Suddenly I had an incredible idea of the last seconds of a person’s life ticking away; someone on death row about to die for killing her husband. I wrote pages and pages in the 20 minutes we were allowed to write. When I handed it in I had such a thrill of excitement knowing that someone was going to read it and give me an honest opinion. I knew it was good.
It was. The teacher wrote several lines of positive comments and gave me an A+. He also encouraged me to write more and try to find that burst of imagination and creativity more often. He also told me that was one of the reasons for the journal. Practicing my writing would only give me more of a voice and, by golly, it sure has.
I saw my niece last night and found out she’s been following my blog. I always feel kind of weird when I find out someone I know reads all about what’s in my head and then that goes away almost right away. I’m writing for me and for anyone who wants to read it. She wants me to keep writing and that’s my intention. It was great to have feedback from her and I feel encouraged to keep up my once-a-week posts here.
One of these days I hope to make a living at this. Wouldn’t that be something? I want to take more creative writing courses and maybe get a novel out of this old noggin of mine. That has always been my dream.