When I was eight, my dad bought me an old-school typewriter to muck around on and I felt really quite professional at the whole writing thing.
When I was eight, one of my poems was published in a collection called “Celery Noise and Quiet Cheese.”
When I was eight I was going to be a writer when I grew up.
When I was eight it was all very simple.
Somewhere along the way I stopped feeling very professional at the whole writing thing. Writing, or rather, choosing writing, stopped feeling simple.
A week ago I saw my writing in print again and a little piece of my identity felt all puffed up and happy.
I wonder whatever happened to my old typewriter…I might be needing it now that I’ve grown up and become a writer. 🙂
Fly My Pretty Pages 