When I was a kid I wrote short stories. I wrote them for fun. Usually they were scribbled in little notebooks and forgotten about.
One day I was writing in my little notebook at my grandmother’s house. She read the story right there at her kitchen table. I remember her sitting in her little wooden chair with her nightgown on and her cup of morning coffee reading my little story like it was a real book. She laughed at the right places, she acted shocked at the right places.
When she was done she said something I’ll never forget.
“This is really good. You should send me some more of these stories. I really enjoyed that.”
For a long time after that I sent my grandmother everything. Poems I compiled into a little “book” of my own. Short stories I scribbled on napkins. Short stories that won me awards. A college essay I wrote.
I’d like to think her support got me where I am today. Without that little vote of confidence (and all the ones that came after I sent a new story) who knows if I would’ve had the guts to publish a book.
If you’re playing along with the challenge one your own blog, make sure to tag me. I’d love to read your memory!
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