On a bright afternoon trip home from preschool my father peered into the rearview mirror, his mustache twitching as he spoke, “What’d you do today, Rachel?”
“First we played games, then we had snack. I was going to nap but the school was attacked by a huge green dragon! It broke everything. We ran into the playground and got to play the rest of the day. The dragon played too,” I explained, giddily kicking my feet together.
Dad’s brow arched as his eyes questioned me from the front seat, “What’d you really do today?”
“I swear, daddy, the dragon came and then we got to use his tail like a slide,” I declared emphatically.
Noting my earnest smile, he replied the following comment as tenderly as possible, “You’re going to have to call these ‘stories’, honey, or else you’ll get in trouble for lying a lot.”
This was one of many moments before middle school that lit my path as a writer. Sure, entering a poetry contest could be dubbed “the moment”; or maybe it was when I wrote my first short story, but hindsight allows us to assess our furthest memories to determine where and when our road began. Mine was on the road home from preschool the day a dragon attacked. I swear it happened…well, something like that.
How did you discover you were a writer? Leave a comment and let me know.