when i was young i had a desk in my room.
i thought it was uncomfortable to sit at
but i decided i needed to write a "chapter book" anyway.
this would make me a real writer. a real challenge.
i think i must have been in the 6th grade--the time when i realized how much i love to write.
so i sat up tall on my desk stool and stared at the wall and scribbled until my hand hurt and crumpled up pieces of paper and threw them over my shoulder, like a real writer would right?
i was so very professional in filling my role.
and i was so very proud of the work i was creating.
i just wish i could remember what the book was about.
for some reason i think it was about indians but i have no idea why i would have written about them. i don't know what i did with the book or where it went.
but it would sure be great to read it today.