For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I’m not sure at exactly what age or which moment I knew for sure, but throughout my life, there have been some “defining moments” that I’ve pinpointed that remind me that from an early age, writing has always been my dream.
A little trip down memory lane…
Seven years old: In first grade, every day for one glorious hour, we would spend time writing in journals. Remember those tiny manila composition books? Unbeknownst to my classmates, we were in a serious competition to see who could fill up the most pages in one sitting. Instead of utilizing my notebook as an actual free flowing journal, at the top of each page, I picked a topic (real examples: Bacon, My Mom’s New Baby, The Beach, Books) and spent the page discussing that topic (I’m pretty sure the “bacon” entry discussed how delicious I thought bacon was). I wrote in huge, loopy letters that took up two lines each. Needless to say, I went through several notebooks throughout the course of first grade. I’m also not sure I understood the point of journal time, although I would say it definitely attributed to my eventual love of writing.
Nine years old: Oh man, in third grade, we got to write our own creative stories! We would write VERY neatly, then create our own cover. Ms. Matlack, my teacher, would laminate the covers and place our book on the shelf, along with all of the other books in our classroom’s library. Oh yes, my tiny third grade heart fluttered because at the ripe age of nine, I was a PUBLISHED author.
12 years old- 15 years old: Throughout these formative years, I kept a diary, almost every day, without fail. Each night, I would furiously scribble in my diary (usually a black and white Mead composition book plastered with cut outs from magazines of hot guys or random words like ‘friends’ ‘fun’ ‘party’ ‘love’). Usually, I would lament about my latest crush, my stupid science test, an annoying friend…or whatever else ailed my teenage days. I would draw hearts around boys names and melodramatically write out song lyrics that I identified with. T
16 years old- 18 years old: Then came the Internet and blogging. My diary moved from a private and physical book to one that the entire world could read… Xanga, Blurty, Livejournal, Blogger…I had them all at some point or another. These blogs hold the whole sordid tale of high school (I should REALLY attempt to hack my way back into this account…could be great inspiration for a WIP).
And now? Here I am. Twenty-two years old, blogging my way through the books I love and the novel I’m writing. And as I continue writing, you’ll all be the first to know about the progress I’m making. Thanks for being here.
Tell me about your writing history. Any funny memories of when you were younger? And if you’re not a writer, how about reading history and memories?