How I Became a Writer

Who am I kidding, I’ve always been a writer.

From a young age, I had the urge to write down what I was thinking, from wild imaginings to random thoughts to dreams. My family had a GUI-free computer in which I stored my early work. I also wrote down a lot of ideas in graphic form.

Curiously, in 1990, I had a series of sketches for the story of a young lion whose uncle forced him out of the kingdom. The lion then befriended a rodent and a pig who helped him reclaim the throne. No, I had never seen Kimba: The White Lion nor had The Lion King come out yet.

I likely wouldn’t have had much success as a writer without having consumed as many books, articles, plays, and scripts as I did. I read voraciously in school, so much so that my school bestowed upon me the honor of “Accelerated Reader.” I was a frequent visitor to our book fair, eagerly snapping up Roald Dahl, Madeline L’Engle, Judy Blume, and Paul Zindel.

I got so involved in my books that I once missed my bus stop because I was engrossed in a book. The bus driver refused to let me off at a non-designated stop and ours was the last stop on the route, so he took me back to the school. This led to my parents’ panic when I failed to come home, and their half-joking suggestion that I stop reading on the bus.