I started writing stories back in the day when I was a wee, little child.
But, okay, technically, I was older than wee when I began to write. I remember penning a myth called “Why the Magnolia Flower is White” while I perched up in a magnolia tree in my backyard in Savannah, Georgia.
Okay, okay, I didn’t write the story in the tree. But I did hang out an awful lot in that tree. Until one day, my mom yelled, “Cathy, get out of that tree before you break your neck!” I think the magnolia flower being white had something to do with a broken neck. Or my mom’s yelling. Whatever. It was a splendiferous myth and I got an “A” on that assignment.
So, pretty much everyone who turned in a myth got an “A” that day. But for me, the writing of that story sparked pure joy. And I’ve been joyfully at it ever since.
And lastly, I’ll admit to a phase of really stinky poetry. I’m truly sorry if you ever had to read any of it.