The Very First Thing I Ever Wrote: My Journey To Writing
We all start somewhere. Writers, I mean. First of all, we all start as story lovers, book consumers, literature fanatics. Don’t we? I have yet to meet a writer who doesn’t love to read. From a very young age, I was known for having my head in a book. My earliest memory of my favorite book was Have You Snuzzled A Wuzzle Today? Rollicking Rhymes From the Land of Wuz by Emma Dunlop. If you’re old enough to remember the Wuzzles, then we can be friends! I loved that book, the rhymes, the pictures. I can almost feel the creases on the hardback of the book. As a six-year-old, I read that book over and over again until the pages were worn. I wonder what happened to my beloved book. Anywho…the point is my love of the written word started early, and I would read anything I could get my hands on.
But there is something special when you discover that you can create literature, you’re very own work of art. I am sure that I had written plenty in my early years for school assignments, but I remember the first time I felt that I had created a work of art, my very first poem. (Note: This post contains affiliate links.)
The year was 1995, we were studying poetry in my sophmore English Literature class, reading Shakespeare, Dickinson (Emily, not Charles), Frost, and Poe (which I had a strange obsession with)— the classics. Mr. Glines, our teacher, gave us the assignment to write a poem. I wrote a poem of a memory that I had of my youngest brother. Note: this poem is also featured in my book Unbroken Pieces, which is available on Amazon! (shameless plug)
This poem is called “The Child”.
His eyes were as blue as a clear sky
On a summer’s day.
His brown, winding curls tumbled over his forehead
And around his pudgy face.
As he sat up,
He stretched his round, plump arms
Toward me.
Small streams of tears stained his reddened cheeks
And flowed to the corners of his small, thin lips.
His tiny fingers stretched out from his dimpled hands
To reach mine.
And when he caught them,
He looked up
And smiled.
Reading this now, I realize that writing, rather, becoming a writer, had always been my destiny. It’s also amazing to see how much I’ve grown as a writer in the last 25+ years. So, if you have ever had the dream of becoming a writer, it’s not too late! It’s in you! To join me on my journey as I explore the world of writing, make sure to subscribe.
