Young Writer

I was very young when I wrote my first piece. Surprisingly, I remember it well. I was in third grade, just seven years old. I had recently learned how to write complete sentences. We were assigned a task, which I completed quickly (a habit of mine, though not always accurately). I closed the notebook the teacher had provided and sat there with my pen, wanting to write something more. I headed to my dad's office where he kept stacks of loose leaf paper. I fetched the turtle-shaped step stool from the washroom, stood on it, and reached for the loose leaf paper. Gathering a few sheets, I began writing my very first short story, not for school. The story was riddled with spelling and grammar mistakes, but I could still understand it. Looking back, I noticed random "K"s in some words. I constantly confused words like "their," "there," and "they're," which highlights the complexities of the English language. Commas were absent throughout, a writing issue that persists today.

My main character was a dog (inspired by the librarian reading "Santa Paws" to our class). "Santa Paws" was a series about a mischievous dog. This dog had a best friend, a cat, and together they embarked on adventures. Nostalgia for movies like "Milo and Otis" or perhaps a longing for my plastic toys and their harmonious, horse-owning world might have influenced this choice. My vivid imagination, which I still possess, partially explains why I struggle to write effective horror stories. Well, they are too effective as my mind wanders into dark places.

Back to the story: the dog and cat were best friends, hanging out when a squirrel began pelting them with acorns. Thinking the squirrel was upset due to their noise, the dog and cat realized the squirrel wanted friendship. They welcomed the squirrel into their group, becoming inseparable since the acorn incident. I left the title blank, unsure of a suitable one. My perspective has since evolved; it's been a while since I explored friendships between animals. I now write about humans, employing emotion through description rather than direct statements. The distinction between "Juniper was sad because her dog died" and "Juniper missed her dog; the wet mud and tangled fur scent, his eager approach resembling anticipation of a treat. Even in his absence, she imagined his tail wagging."

As I wrote the two-page story, my grip on the pencil grew so tight that my hand ached. To this day, I still apply excessive pressure to my pens and pencils. Over time, I learned from my spelling errors and persisted. English classes went well; I recall one assignment from a typically non-bestowing-100% teacher. I achieved full marks, surprising my classmates who hadn't pegged me as an adept student. Although often teased, English remained my forte. However, moving schools affected my grades; my average dropped by around thirty percent. High school followed, and my grades hovered just above average.

Upon entering post-secondary education, I enrolled in a writing class and saw my grades rebound, consistently earning A-pluses on assignments. I stood alone in this achievement. Other students performed admirably, but I felt relieved. I knew I possessed good writing skills. Later in life, I decided to pursue an English Major, though I eventually shifted to an English concentration. After graduation; for nearly two years, I struggled to pick up a book, resenting the thought of reading one.

Then, I got a job at the hospital and I was reading three books a day and I forgot how much I missed getting lost in a novel, and the adventures you could take with your mind. I have a vivid imagination and it helps a lot, when you can almost see yourself being present amidst the action. It also inspired me to pick up my pen again and write more. Now what am I doing? I am now reading mysteries/thrillers by authors such as Ruth Ware and Lucy Foley. Writing was a way for me to escape reality and live in a world of imagination, this trend luckily continued throughout my life.