The headmaster was standing at the back of the room in his brown suit and brown tie, his arms crossed somberly across his chest. He was a serious man who never joked, never smiled.
I was nervous just looking at him.
It was my second grade class and it was the end of the school year. My teacher, Ms. White, held a sheaf of those wide ruled tan colored notebook papers stapled together in her hands, turning each page slowly as she read from the podium at the front of the class.
They were my papers.
It was my story.
I stole another glance around the room. My classmates watched her with rapt attention, eyes growing wider. They were there in the story, I could see it!
There were dwarves and a wizard and a cave filled with treasure and scary monsters that clung to the dark shadows. I knew the secret, though. It was going to end up with good winning out over evil. Just wait, I smiled to myself.
As she read the last words there was silence. More silence. My heart stood still as the seconds ticked by. Then… everyone clapped, even the somber, frightening man at the back of the class.
He smiled at me!
I had never been recognized by anyone as being good at anything to that point. My handwriting was always awful. I read aloud too fast. My clothes were old, worn hand-me-downs. Mathematics was still a mystery to me. I was quiet as a mouse, never speaking, always invisible.
And so from that day forward I wrote every chance I could get.
I will never win any literary award. I will never have a huge audience. But when I put pen to paper I find my voice. The magic weaves its way through my fingers, taking over…
Thus began my love affair with words.
This was a guest post I did at Kevin Morris’s blog yesterday. Please check him out!