A writing exercise, that is. Thought I’d take myself for a walk down memory lane. I’d love to hear your thoughts about when/where you were when you decided to do something you love to do, too!
My interest in writing stories began in the first grade, I think. We had to practice our handwriting every day. “Today is Wednesday,” we would write. “We studied math today.” Sometimes, we would get creative and talk about what we had for lunch or if we did arts and crafts. I always made an “A” in handwriting practice. One day, we made paper hats out of paper plates. The kid in class who was always seeking attention glued his paper lunch sack to the top of his hat and put construction paper headlights on it. I was impressed. I felt that such a monumental creation had to be immortalized in our daily handwriting exercise. “We made paper hats. Brent’s looked like an awtomowbeel,” I proudly wrote. I asked the teacher how to spell “automobile,” and she told me to “sound it out.” I tried my best. It was the only word I had ever misspelled on a class assignment in first grade. Dejectedly, I took my “B+” home to my mother. I think I might have actually wanted to cry a little bit. I was sensitive like that. Also, I was easily embarrassed. My mother looked at the paper and we read it aloud together, like we did almost every day after school. “Well,” my mother giggled, “at least you had the right idea!” She seemed pretty happy, actually. What I didn’t understand then was that she was proud to have a daughter who even attempted to spell “automobile” on a first grade handwriting assignment. I think that was the first day I started wanting to tell stories. I already loved to read, and it was exciting to think that I might be able to put words on paper and describe my world for other people to read.(http://www NULL.linkwithin NULL.com/)