My First Story

The first story I ever wrote that I didn’t write for a school project was a piece I wrote about my older brother teaching me how to write my name. I wrote this story for a contest a local publisher was running. I wrote the story to be a children’s book.

Twenty-seven years ago in 1996, I was invited to join a local contest. The prompt for the competition was to write a children’s book about an incident in our childhood. So I wrote about how my brothers would not play with me until I had learned how to do a little lesson they gave me, then they would color, play tag, or watch TV with me once I did. I didn’t feel I did well but I never felt my writing was the best. The publisher wanted to offer me creative writing lessons and the right to publish my book. Sadly, since I lacked self-esteem, I backed out of the contest.

Writing the story brought back many memories of my childhood with my older brothers, some joyful memories. I used to have the best big brothers before they grew up. It brought back that feeling of closeness we used to have.

My writing style has changed a lot since then. I’m no longer worried about writing about something new and letting people read my work. I know I may not be the best, but that’s okay since I write for entertainment and anyone who enjoys reading my work. I also have found that whereas before I hated poetry, I now love writing poetry.

I’m not as innocent as twenty-seven years ago, but that’s okay. My writing now has a maturity that I didn’t have before. This maturity in itself is excellent. It gives my writing a whole different depth than it had back then.

I’m glad I grew as a writer. It shows I’ve lived and learned.