For as long as I can remember I wanted to make books. When I was four or five I was the illustrator. I spent hours drawing pictures of me going to the library for storytime or doing cartwheels in my gymnastics class. I remember writing stories about fairies who lived in trees, and re-telling little red riding hood. I dictated the stories to my mom and she wrote them down.
It was after the excitement of learning to read and write wore off that I discovered my dream.
I was going to write a real book. Continue reading