When I was in the third grade, we had a teacher who would allow us to write poems and stories and read them to the class. I loved to write little things to read aloud. Other than singing in church, it was my first real taste of having a “captive audience,” and I loved it.
As much as I loved to write, though, I never really thought about doing anything with it other than reading to my classmates. Then I wrote a poem entitled The Trip. No, I’m not going to include it, here. To be honest, I’m not even sure where it is. I remember writing it, though.
My family was taking a drive to see my grandparents, who lived a couple of hours away. I was laying down in the back of our blue station wagon, working on a poem I wanted to read to the class. I distinctly remember writing the alphabet down the side of my paper to help me find just the right rhyming word.
When I thought I had it just about perfect, I read my poem to my parents in the front seat. When I was done reading, my mom said the words that changed my ideas about writing forever.
“Did you copy that out of a book?”
Now, I don’t really know if she actually thought I copied it, or if she was teasing. But when I told her I wrote it myself, she and my dad both told me how impressed they were.
That was it for me. That was the moment that writing became a little more real. That was the moment I thought, “I may be pretty good at this!”
Now, I won’t say that I’ve always been consistent with my writing. There have been a lot of years between that day and now. A lot of life has happened — and occasionally gotten in the way.
But it’s a new day. It’s time to buckle down and get serious. Will anything ever really come of what I write? Who knows. All I know is that I am a writer, so I’m going to write.
Starting now.
Kristi West 