Early Writing Memories

I think I’ve always been a storyteller. I have vivid memories as a young child – probably no more than six – where I’d dream up interesting characters, put them in difficult situations, and then find a way to solve their dilemmas so that they could live happily ever after. I’ve also always loved to draw, so often these stories became sketches.

I wrote my first play when I was in Grade Four. I had read a book called Ghosts Don’t Eat Sausages and I remember loving it so much that I wanted to write a play about it. After I wrote the play I convinced several of my classmates to act it out at recess time. This was in the day when there were no photocopiers, so I had to rewrite everyone’s parts by hand. Talk about dedication! I was the director and we proceeded to ‘rehearse’ for several recesses. I’m not sure what I thought would come of it, but our teacher happened to notice our activities and when she found out what we were doing, she scheduled a performance date and we presented the play to the entire school. When I think about it now, she must have had a lot of confidence in us, because I don’t remember much interference on her part. The play got a whole page in the yearbook that year, with me listed as the playwright and director. I think that early ‘success’ gave me confidence as a writer.

Unfortunately, my confidence waned when I got to junior high. I wrote a long and elaborate story as an English assignment which, when I think about it now, was actually pretty amazing. It was about a teen girl who was going to visit her father in Europe, and unknown to her, she actually had royal bloodlines and would soon be thrust upon the throne of a tiny kingdom. In retrospect, it was very much a “Princess Diaries” type of story (long before that movie ever came out) and I got an A. I did a ton of research for it, and loved writing it, but then my teacher wanted me to read it to the class and I refused. It turned into an altercation and I got in trouble. I’m not sure why I was so adamant about NOT reading it to the class. I guess the mind (and hormones) of a thirteen-year-old are a mystery that doesn’t always make sense.

Fortunately, I grew out of that phase and went on to do well at creative writing for the remainder of my school years. My Grade 12 English teacher suggested I go to a writing camp after graduation, but I didn’t have the funds or the nerve at the time.

I’ve grown a lot since then, but I don’t think anyone ever gets over all their insecurities.

Much of this piece was previously published on my former blog, “Expression Express”. I found it in the archives.