I thought I would tell you, and by you I mean the great cosmic internet and any readers if they get swept my way, a little about myself. I have been writing since before I could write. One of my earliest memories is trying to write in my journal. I told my mother what I wanted to say, she wrote it out and I copied it. Or tried to. I still have that journal and let me tell you, I tried faithfully to copy the strange shapes she had written down, but…um…yea.
In kindergarten I wrote and illustrated books I then took to show and tell. I wasn’t embarrassed to say I was a writer and of course everyone wanted to see my stuff. It was amazing. I wrote my first chapter book in third grade.
My favorite presents were notebooks and pencils (now pens. Good pens. Nice, thick, dark, liquid pens) They were so bright, shiny and new, perfect pages waiting for my brilliant words. But sometimes those perfect, brilliant waiting pages were too intimidating and maybe those notebooks got put on a shelf until I found just the right thing. Some years I let life get in the way and didn’t write much but I always came back home. Writing is a part of me, one I never want to be without.