Before R. Sativus

Today Ian gave me a prompt:

Today I would like to read about why you have such a passion for writing. What’s the first memory that you have of enjoying writing, what was it about? What are ways I could help you with your writing? 

Didn’t I just answer this the other day? Because there are so many words to string together in so many different ways. Because I love the sound and the feel of a keyboard. Because it’s easier to be myself when I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.

The first memory I have of enjoying writing is writing poetry as a child. One summer when I was eight or nine, my dad helped me submit some poems to the local newspaper that had a section for kids’ writing. They published my poems. I think I still have the clipping somewhere.

I always loved writing reports in school. Any topic, it didn’t matter. 

When I was in fifth grade, we had Automatic Writing, five minutes every day, first thing. Sometimes I would tell stories, sometimes describe things, and yes, sometimes resort to the infinity of very‘s we’ve all been guilty of at some point.

In my seventh grade gifted class, I turned in a series of satirical essays about Desert Shield/Desert Storm. My teacher loved them. It’s funny; we all thought she was so weird, but I’d be willing to bet that we would get along famously now. As Ian would say, she was a hippie. Maybe I should look her up on Facebook. Anyway. I thought I was just being clever, writing like a smartass and getting away with it. I didn’t realize until years later that I was The Onion before there was The Onion.

When I was fifteen I spent three weeks at summer camp for nerds. I’m happy to see, after a quick google, that it’s still going strong. I wrote essay upon essay, and someone called me a genius to my face for the first time instead of writing it in a file. That’s rewarding for anybody.

And Ian, you do plenty to help me. You’re encouraging while minding your own business, and that works for me. Thank you.

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