To begin at the beginning, you must embrace the moment you became a writer. And even though you might point to a mysterious emergence as a teen or that time in a required English class at a college or university that the teacher read your short story, that is not where it starts.
My roots are as strong and far-reaching as that little girl who made up her own songs, and sang them loudly in the cab of my father's truck. Thinking back, I am amazed that it was the one time when he didn't yell at me to stop. And I don't know about other neighborhoods, but the kids in ours created plays and acted them out in backyards up and down the street. We recreated families with our dolls and ran around after the family dog attempting to get her to talk like Mr. Ed.
We created fun through ideas, words, laughter, and in a somewhat desperate attempt to connect and keep the audience, and the players, coming back for more.
Somewhere in those moments between my first word and the minute I walked into first grade, the writer in me attempted to come out and play.
So tell me when you really started to use words as a way to communicate, amuse, bemuse or cry in ink, charcoal or dust. It's where the writer in you began.