When I first started writing seriously, I was 9 years old. My mom had started dating someone and i had strong feelings against it. She knew that but continued seeing him. In truth, there was nothing wrong with this man. He showed genuine interest in my brother and I but I didn’t like sharing my mother with anyone else. I already had to compete witha needy little brother and a special needs aunt. So, my first “novel” was 5 chapters long and was about mysrlf and the other members of my household.
My mother’s boyfriend encouraged my efforts with a hearty “You got something there,kid”. My mom was more comcerned about how I had writte the character of myself. I think i described myself as climsy and lonely. All through school, I excelled in modt writing assignments. In high school, I applied for a position on the school newspaper, The Highlighter, in tenth grade only to be told I had to wait another year and to choose it as an elective. I did just that.
I always kept a diary as far back as I can remember. I wrote in it because I wasnt being heard in my house. I was too sensitive and for my emotionally stunted family. So, I wrote. My biological mother, a sensitive soul herself,gifted me a diary when I was 14. She knew I had to write like I had to sleep and eat.
After Amani was born, I started a blog. I was a teenage mither and I had some thoughys about that. It felt good to see all my hopes, dreams,fears, and accomplishments all in black and white.
The diaries Ive had since Amani was born are for her. I want her to know all about me..from me. After I am gone from this life,stories from relatives and friends will be told about me to my daughter. I’d like to think all stories will be drowned in sweet sentiments, but I ain’t no fool. For the stories that star me as the antagonist, I’d like to tell my side,if you will. I am completely honest with her and sone if the things she will read,I’m glad I’ll be dead for. But she will know my full story and hopefully use them and her own to help others.