It started out as a feeling...

I had forgotten this until today and I don't know why. Maybe this is another reason why I want to be a writer. Here it goes.

I was 8 years old at the time. It was the summer before third grade--the summer I went to Summer Recreation and broke my right arm. More specifically, my humerus bone. As my 6 year old brother pointed out, "It's not very humorous to break your humerus." I remember being on a car trip and somehow, I was sitting in shot-gun. That was probably mildly illegal but whatever. My mom and I were definitely in the front--Mike was probably sleeping in the back or something. However, I was working on a story about a dog named Skip. Of course, we can forget about copyright infringement too. It had nothing to do with the actually movie called "My Dog Skip." This was my version of it. It was about a yellow Labrador Retriever named Skip who decided to leave his home and go on a huge adventure. I had this great idea and I had to write it down so I did, with my arm hanging out of the sling to write. I remember my mom laughing and saying something like, "Look at you, writing away like your arm isn't even broken!" I didn't even stop after this: I kept going. Why? Because I was chasing a dream. My dream.

In fact, today? I am still chasing this dream and that isn't about to change.