When I was in grade 4, my teacher assigned a project/contest where would be paired off to write a story with another student. At that time, I felt more comfortable writing the story alone, and was allowed to do so. I was very surprised when I learned that I had been selected as the winner. The prize: a chocolate bar! As much as I love chocolate, having my story chosen as the winner in the contest was a far greater prize. I was thrilled, and just a little bit proud.
The following year, I wrote my first ‘published’ book. Okay, so it wasn’t officially published, but it felt close enough to me at the time. I had written and illustrated a little Christmas book about a mouse. The school librarian was gracious enough to put it on the library shelves. I think it may have even been checked out a couple of times (go figure).
The point? I believe that writing has always been in my blood. Clearly, from a young age I enjoyed the idea of writing and it has never left me. In fact it has grown stronger over time. It’s something I feel deeply compelled to do, and even if I never earn another penny from my writing, I know it will be something I’ll do for the rest of my life, if only for my own entertainment and enjoyment. (Though it would be cool if I brought some enjoyment to others too.)