This week I'm participating in Christine Tyler's blogfest and talking about who and what made me decide to be a writer.
When I was in sixth grade, it became my personal quest to read every book in the school library. It was part of our morning ritual; my teacher, Mr. Banning, would take roll. He'd read any memos from the office, talk about any upcoming events. Karl Tubbs, who sat next to me, would be bouncing in his seat, whispering, "Did you finish? Are you done?" When Mr. Banning called my name for roll call, I would say, "Here...Can I go to the library?" The room would explode with exclamations. Didn't I get a book yesterday? Was I really reading them? Was this some elaborate scheme to skip the first ten minutes of class every day? Why can Jeigh get a pass to the library when I can't even go to the bathroom?? [because you abused the privilege, kid.]
It made me feel really cool at the time, but now I look back on it and realize it's...kinda nerdy.
There was one book a boy in my class did a book report on called "Dragon's Milk", by Susan Fletcher.
I never actually finished, but man, that's kind of sick...
Regardless of my early tendency for tragic love stories (some day maybe I'll tell you about "The Oyster and The Pearl"), this book lit the fuse and made me realize that I wanted to write something that could move someone to tears like this had done for me.