Remembering My Firsts

I've been writing for I don't know how long. Short little stories that I made up in my sketchbooks on long drives really had no real plot but I loved to draw the pictures to go with it. I've never really been a fan of writing about real life in retrospect. Funny that I've come to realize that just now. It's entirely possible that my preferences were made already as early as third grade.

Third grade was awesome. Not only did I have an amazing teacher, Mrs. Lacey, but she was so creative and energetic that I loved going to school. She's also the first person that I remember that taught me the rudiments of writing a story. Really. As early as third grade. My first true story (and probably the only one I ever finished to my liking) was written for Mrs. Lacey's class. We had to write and illustrate a story of our own making. It was a whole unit. We went though the whole process: writing, editing, revising with both our story and our drawings before committing anything to the heavy fancy paper that was usually reserved for the junior high art students. I was and still am quite proud of my final product. If I can find it I'll try to scan an image and put it here eventually. My cover was laminated and my drawings done in bright Prismacolor pencils stood out on the page crisp and clear. The pages were stapled together and bound with a royal blue tape to make it look neat. I picked the color. It turns out that I had good reason to be proud of my work. Mrs. Lacey awarded the classroom equivalent of the Newbery award to my little book. That little gold foil sticker on my cover is what I credit with giving me the writing bug. I felt so accomplished and elated that my over active imagination had paid off.

Whenever I get stuck or down in the dumps with what I'm writing, I think about that little book and suddenly my determination and drive come back two-fold. It's the bounce in my writer's step. It's amazing that such a small thing can make such an impact on your life. Too cool, right?