It’s Always Been

I can’t remember exactly when I first started telling stories. I think it might have been the day I was born.
But I do remember the first story I wrote. I used a purple crayon to create a young hero who saved the life of an elderlchoking victim at a McDonald’s restaurant. The victim was choking on a McDonald’s french fry. He turned out to be a millionaire and he gave a ton of money to the hero and everyone lived happily ever after. Pure heaven in my little kid mind. Probably more the idea of McDonald’s than the idea of a ton of money.
Back then we were poor, but I didn’t know it. My mom stayed home off and on when she could. My dad was in the military. McDonald’s was a huge treat. Lord knows we didn’t go out to real restaurants.
But my little kid brain had a great time creating that story. And my mom listened attentively while I read it to her. When I was done she asked me for more. I gave her what she asked for and I had a blast doing it.
A few years later I was writing teen romances for my friends. I wrote the words with blue EraserMate pens and I always used blue college ruled spirals. I have no idea how many of those stories I wrote, and I have no idea where they are today. I know my mom always asked me why my heroine’s mother had to either be dead or dying from a terminal disease. I had no idea. I just liked to make my friends cry when they read my books.
And my friends did read them. Every day they begged me for new chapters and every day I had those chapters ready. (Homework was another thing altogether!) They were a critique group of sorts, I suppose. But they couldn’t take the pplace of my number one fan for years. My mom. She doesn’t read what I write today, but she still asks me how my writing is going. She still talks about “when I get published.”
I’m lucky! And I better go call my mom and say thanks!


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