Writing as a Child

As a child, I wrote creatively because I wanted to. No one made me do it; I just picked up my pen and wrote. My mother can tell about the first attempt I made at creative writing, or writing just for fun. All of nine years old, I sat down at our kitchen table with a pile of papers and a sharpened pencil . . .

"Bears," I read to her, "Some are brown, black, or white/ and most of them have a big appetite."

She burst into laughter as I pronounced this long word.

"They roll down hills and climb up trees/ and some of them just sit in the breeze."

Years later, I realize that writing is a natural expression and propensity. Like all journeys, constructing correct papers, stories, poems, books, and articles requires increasing knowledge and willingness to fix mistakes. To me, my children's debut novel being published and my persistence in spite of some mediocre and therefore unacceptable work proves that I am a writer.