Devotion to writing can turn you into a tumbleweed, but with mind-reading power
If you read my first blog post, “How I Killed My Birthday Party,” you know how I busted up that birthday party by reading before I could read.
After that, like you, I went to school and learned to actually read words. From then on, I always had to have a book to read.
Surely with that background, I would be a writer someday, not just a reader.
But have you ever attempted to do something great
. . . and it turns out . . .
My guests were pissed, hopping from foot to foot in exasperation.
Let’s head back in time to attend a formative literary event in the annals of writing.
It was a birthday party for me, but whether I actually “attended” it is up for debate. You see, I was three years old.
It’s not that I didn’t understand the concept of a birthday party at that age . . . believe me, I was all for it.
So, there I was, seated on a chair. Whatever preceded my sitting down, I don’t recall, nor do I remember what followed after I got . . . The Best Present of All Time.