Reading was a big part of my life when I was young. Books helped me make sense of a world that was, on a good day, seriously confusing. But I’m not sure it occurred to me to be a writer. At least not in a realistic way. I looked at writers as movie or rock stars. So you could do your best, but still might not make it. Plus I had a serious shortage of confidence.
|Does this look like a girl would|
survive in the jungle?
This is not as pathetic as it seems (and I am actually, eventually, going to make my point) because it was in this sixth grade classroom, in the dark, where I met my soon-to-be best friend, Kendra, who was also a hiding sort of person. We would go on to introduce our families who would hit it off spectacularly and spend the next several summers vacationing together in glamorous destinations like Lake Almanor where we would fish for Kokanee trout.I don’t remember much of those three weeks, mostly just the jacks and Kendra. But I do remember a writing contest. Back when they had contests where there was only one winner. Surprisingly, despite my lack of confidence, I lit up inside at the prospect of writing a story for a contest. I wrote madly and re-wrote. I was consumed by the contest (this is when I discovered how competitive I am – which I have come to believe is an ingredient in the stew that is a writer). It was a terribly frightening story about an evil book in a particular room in an old hotel. Chaos ensued. People died. The book won. It was my best work.
And I won the contest! Of course, I believed at the time that they let me win because I was new and played jacks during lunch in a dark room. But still!Like I said, I don’t remember if this was when I first dreamed of becoming a writer. But it was definitely the first time I remember loving writing.
So let's call it Exhibit #1 in the writer that I have become.