Maybe you could fill a bookcase with journals. Maybe you could recite the best lines from Shakespeare. Maybe you spent so much time at the library that the librarian asked you to add to the collection instead of taking from it. Maybe you wrote a short story in sixth grade that dug its way into your brain.
As with any passion, hobby, interest, or fleeting curiosity, there is always that sparking moment. There’s always that memory of yeah, I like this… let’s do some more!
Mine was back in 2nd grade when I wrote a truly terrible poem that I still remember and will never speak aloud. In my younger years, back when I was religious, most of my poetry was a childlike art of expressing the morals and virtues of religion. I still uphold those morals even if religion isn’t something I actively practice.
A few years later, I found an illustrated copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s most famous poems. Annabel Lee, Dream within a Dream, The Raven. I still remember the illustrations and some of the lines.
Beyond that, I wrote some stories in middle school that gave me this light bulb revelation:
I like books. Stories are like mini-books. I can… write my own stories?! I can write books if I want to!
For me, it was the thrill of being able to create something for which I already had a special nook in my heart. Books. Entertaining stories! Characters and setting! Plot! My second-grade decision to become a “writer” when I grew up now had legs. It was like a golem morphed from clay, taking shape with each passing year.
Each writer has a story like this. What’s yours? When did you reailze that you—YOU of all the other people you know—could wrap your fingers around a pencil and make something? What was your first step into the world of words?
When did you light bulb crackle with electricity, sparking the light of creativity? In short, when did you first fall in love?
If this inspires your own blog post of When I fell in love with writing, let me know so I can read your story!