I read Joe Konrath’s blog the other day. (Well, I read it just about everyday for that matter.) He posted an entry about when he first knew that he wanted to be a writer. This got me thinking about when I knew that writing was something I loved.
I’d have to say that it started when I was about six years old. My first grade teacher, Mrs. Carlson, assigned a class project where we had to make a book. My book was called “The Turtle” and was a story about the time I found a turtle while walking home from school. In the story, I got to take the turtle home and keep it as a pet. In real life, the turtle never made it inside the house.
Many of the stories I’ve written contain some element of truth, something that really happened to me. I find it fascinating that the first story I remember writing did as well. I don’t know what it means except that maybe I use fiction as a way to work through things that happen to me.
I know I still have “The Turtle” book packed in a box somewhere. If I find it, maybe I’ll post the story for fun. If I can get my hands on a scanner, you might get some of my beautiful artwork too.