When it really began

In my previous post I said that it (my becoming a writer) began during the pandemic. But we have to dig a little deeper and ask, “How did I get interested in writing in the first place?” In reflecting on this question, I suddenly remembered that I actually wrote my first book in 1974 when I was in fifth grade. It was a children’s picture book. Everyone in the class had to write and illustrate a book, which we then had to share with our first-grade reading buddies. The title of my book was “The Fat, Lazy Beaver.” Our wonderful teacher Mrs. Fieldman somehow had it beautifully bound in cardboard covered by leopard-print cloth. A sample page is reproduced below. The plot involves a scary fox, but the ending is happy and there is a moral that any first-grader can relate to: laziness will get you in trouble.

But that was only the beginning. The small Christian school I attended published an annual literary magazine. Beginning in sixth grade, I began submitting Sneaky Sam stories every year. Sneaky Sam was a criminal who was not as smart as he thought he was. Inevitably, he would be outwitted by the authorities, proving once again that crime doesn’t pay. The only surviving episode, written when I was in eighth grade and entitled “Sneaky Sam Rides Again,” involves an armored truck, an attempted robbery and a surprising twist ending — with Sneaky Sam back behind bars where he belongs.

What is the moral of all this? Encourage kids to write! Encourage imagination! (Not to mention reading: I think everyone loves to read before they love to write.) My love of writing lay latent for over 40 years, but then it suddenly blossomed. And it all started in fifth grade.