I grew up in a household of readers. The only extension to bedtime was a book. From picture books and fairy tales to Disney tales graduating to The Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew. These were the stories my mother read to me, that inspired my love of the written word. Adventures.
The tragedy is that I didn’t learn how to read English till about grade four. They started in grade three but I couldn’t grasp it. The problem was that I was from an English speaking household enrolled in French Immersion. I had a hard time differentiating between the two languages and would grab at whatever words came to me first. Consequently when being taught how to read I wanted to apply French rules to English words. In grade four our gym teachers was also our English teacher. And something she did clicked. And while the seeds for reading had been planted, they sprouted under her tutelage.
Once I struggled through my first book on my own and knew that it was possible, I was on a ride with no ending. I started hording and collecting books. A hobby my parents couldn’t deny. I had a bookshelf that dominated an entire wall of my bedroom – mostly Babysitters Club and The Boxcar Children with a splash of R.L. Stine. As I grew, my tastes changed. The Library was a close friend, less than a five minute walk away.
Of course being a child I had various ideas of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a Pirate like Pippi Long Stockings. An actress so I could meet J.T.T. And then somewhere in the back of my mind it occurred to me that the magic of books were created by magicians – writers. Perhaps I would be that too when I grew up.
And that one little seed planted remained. Someday I would create magic. Someday I would write a book. A dream all my own that I didn’t often let into the light. I didn’t want it to get spoiled or tarnished like other dreams that I had shown. No this I would keep safe. This was my treasure.
But sometimes treasure gets buried and the map gets lost. And sometimes when you don’t let your dreams out the only person you are accountable is to you. I dug up that treasure and I brushed it off, and decided that if that was what I really wanted I needed to get serious about it. So a few summers ago I started looking for a community to join in regards to writing. I found a few but it would be NaNoWriMo that would eventually lead me to my current groups – The Monday Night Writers Pack and The Underground Writers. Mondays is an open write in, and the UW is a closed group with critics. Both imperative to my future success.