One of my earliest childhood memories is lying on the linoleum floor of our kitchen with my Fisher Price typewriter while my mom sat at the table paying bills or stood at the stove cooking dinner. I fervently hammered out what I imagined were pages and pages of stories, swiping the plastic carrier to the other end when the bell would ding and then continuing my typing. I wanted to be an author, although I have no idea how I even knew what an author was or what an author did at such a young age. I distinctly remember telling my mom that I wanted Santa to bring me a typewriter for Christmas. She reminded me that I had a typewriter as she pointed to where said typewriter and I lay at her feet. But my four-year old self was adamant that I needed a real typewriter so that I could write stories and become a famous author.
Luckily I wore her down, and Santa delivered. On Christmas Eve in 1987, in a frenzy of discarded wrapping paper and bows, I immediately began hammering out my first story by the glow of the lights from the Christmas tree. I persistently climbed into the La-Z-Boy chair with my dad and requested that he read the story that I had written. He made up a story to “read” to me, something about a pumpkin patch and a dog.
As I got a little bit older, I spent days at a time in my room with this typewriter, writing stories and drawing pictures to go with the stories. I was also an avid reader. My favorites were The Babysitters Club books by Ann M. Martin and anything by Judy Blume. I couldn’t wait to grow up and become a famous author, spending my days writing books that everyone would love, just like these two women did.
As an adult, creating my blog, writing books, and freelance writing and editing have allowed me to live out my creative passions every day. here would I be today without Santa and that typewriter?
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