To believe oneself a writer...
Writing, for me, began as reading. My father had a passion for reading which he actively passed along to me from a very young age. I was read to nightly and encouraged to read on my own as opposed to watching television or playing games. Not to suggest I didn't do both, but they weren't encouraged of me.
The first time I truly remember trying my hand at creative writing was when I was 7 or 8. I was lucky as a child that my parents had always had a computer in the house. They had won one in a lottery not once, but twice and afterwards always felt the need to keep things up-to-date. When I was 7-8 we had a trusty Apple IIc stored safely in my parents room and one fateful day I was given permission to use it.
I sat down at the keyboard and my mother helped me open up whatever the word processor was at the time and I began to type. My strong desire was to make a 'Newspaper' of sorts to distribute to the other kids in the neighborhood. It was going to have fanciful stories some fictitious some not. There was going to be a space for drawings (which I intended to do later) and I had a crossword planned as well. I couldn't tell you what those stories were and I probably wouldn't remember the story now were it not for one key element which will never leave me.
I didn't know what a 'Space Bar' was...
soallofmytypingcameoutjustlikethisanditwasnotaneasythingtoread
When I had decided I was done I got my mother and she sat down to edit it for me. She did not know what she was in for. I'll always love her for what she did next; "Shaun," she said to me with the utmost patience, "come sit with, mommy. Let me show you how the keyboard works. This will help you for next time you want to make a newspaper."
She sat there with me and diligently hit *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *space*. *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *space* for at least an hour. She added the occasional piece of punctuation, capitalized some letters, and generally showed me the ropes without making me feel horrible about it.
Her patience in showing me what I done wrong and the time she took to show me how to make it right has always stuck with me. Afterwards I wrote a lot of fiction as children are wont to do. Most of it was done with a pencil and paper, but I loved every minute of it. In the third grade I had a teacher whose name I believe to have been Ms. Wheeler... but I could be incredibly wrong.
She assigned to the class the task of writing a short story about being 6 inches tall and what it would be like. My mind raced and I wrote a story that I loved about a boy who shrunk in the hot tub one night and became the size of a mouse. He lived in the walls with other people and lived through the calamity of being sucked up by a dust-buster. It was only a few pages long and I doubt it was actually all that good... but when I got the paper back it had a big red 'A' written on the cover with a comment that read something along the lines of "Shaun is one of the most creative young men I have ever taught! This was a wonderful story and I can't wait to read more!"
That was my "Ah-ha!" moment. I knew right then and there that I wanted to tell stories. I haven't always pursued that dream with the tenaciousness that I should have... but that has never been my personality type. I'm simply glad at this point to have completed one novel and to have the ideas in my creative bank for dozens more. I have never felt good enough to write, prepared enough, educated enough... lots of things enough. I self-doubt, I beat myself up when I notice I typed something wrong or had an idea that wasn't unique. I don't know that I'll ever have a "career" as an author or a writer; I just know that I believe myself to be one.
The first time I truly remember trying my hand at creative writing was when I was 7 or 8. I was lucky as a child that my parents had always had a computer in the house. They had won one in a lottery not once, but twice and afterwards always felt the need to keep things up-to-date. When I was 7-8 we had a trusty Apple IIc stored safely in my parents room and one fateful day I was given permission to use it.
I sat down at the keyboard and my mother helped me open up whatever the word processor was at the time and I began to type. My strong desire was to make a 'Newspaper' of sorts to distribute to the other kids in the neighborhood. It was going to have fanciful stories some fictitious some not. There was going to be a space for drawings (which I intended to do later) and I had a crossword planned as well. I couldn't tell you what those stories were and I probably wouldn't remember the story now were it not for one key element which will never leave me.
I didn't know what a 'Space Bar' was...
soallofmytypingcameoutjustlikethisanditwasnotaneasythingtoread
When I had decided I was done I got my mother and she sat down to edit it for me. She did not know what she was in for. I'll always love her for what she did next; "Shaun," she said to me with the utmost patience, "come sit with, mommy. Let me show you how the keyboard works. This will help you for next time you want to make a newspaper."
She sat there with me and diligently hit *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *space*. *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *right arrow*, *space* for at least an hour. She added the occasional piece of punctuation, capitalized some letters, and generally showed me the ropes without making me feel horrible about it.
Her patience in showing me what I done wrong and the time she took to show me how to make it right has always stuck with me. Afterwards I wrote a lot of fiction as children are wont to do. Most of it was done with a pencil and paper, but I loved every minute of it. In the third grade I had a teacher whose name I believe to have been Ms. Wheeler... but I could be incredibly wrong.
She assigned to the class the task of writing a short story about being 6 inches tall and what it would be like. My mind raced and I wrote a story that I loved about a boy who shrunk in the hot tub one night and became the size of a mouse. He lived in the walls with other people and lived through the calamity of being sucked up by a dust-buster. It was only a few pages long and I doubt it was actually all that good... but when I got the paper back it had a big red 'A' written on the cover with a comment that read something along the lines of "Shaun is one of the most creative young men I have ever taught! This was a wonderful story and I can't wait to read more!"
That was my "Ah-ha!" moment. I knew right then and there that I wanted to tell stories. I haven't always pursued that dream with the tenaciousness that I should have... but that has never been my personality type. I'm simply glad at this point to have completed one novel and to have the ideas in my creative bank for dozens more. I have never felt good enough to write, prepared enough, educated enough... lots of things enough. I self-doubt, I beat myself up when I notice I typed something wrong or had an idea that wasn't unique. I don't know that I'll ever have a "career" as an author or a writer; I just know that I believe myself to be one.