When I was really young -- kindergarten, maybe -- I remember walking into my bedroom while my mom called something after me. In my mind, I added, "Mom said."
In the fifth grade, I wrote a story in a notebook. And then another one.
In middle school, all my "story" notebook were the same color (teal, for some reason) so I could discriminate easily between them and my academic notebooks.
(I still have these notebooks, by the way.)
I passed the stories around. I inspired others to write stories, too.
In the ninth grade, I finished my first book. It wasn't my first long story, but it was, for some reason, the most important story I'd yet written. I remember walking the halls of my high school telling strangers that I had just finished my novel (and I probably had a ream of paper in my hand to prove it).
My senior year, I had an independent study wherein my task for the year was to complete a novel.
...and on and on...
There's never a time in my memory when I haven't thought of stories, told stories, written stories. And nothing brings me more joy than weaving a world from words, than crying while I write an emotional moment, than hearing from someone else that they're enjoying reading something I've written.
I think we've all got a purpose in life. Well, probably, we all have a great many purposes, but I'm talking about Purpose. And mine has always been writing.
And finally the planets are aligning.
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