My sister, Debi. She asked me what I would do if I had twenty years of my life back to start again. I said I would be a writer, wistfully. She opened my laptop and found a writing class in my neighborhood and I enrolled that evening. Thanks to my big sister!
My second grade teacher Mrs Taylor positively redirected my outlandish storytelling into writing, and then my mom double-downed and I was submitting and getting recognition in Cricket Magazine story contests supported by her proofreading but not editing throughout elementary school.
My mom, but it initially wasn't a creative-outlet thing; it was because when I spoke, she was the only person who knew what I was saying. I was in speech therapy for ten years, and even though I was an early (even , she had to translate me for my own dad until I was five. Turns out, because I spoke so fast and without much thought, my writing was far better than my ramblings (still true today!) and by primary school, she and my teachers were encouraging me to work on my creative writing.
I don't remember the first person who ever encouraged me to write - it was probably a teacher - but the first person to ever encourage me to be a writer was, believe it or not, a bishop, when I was in high school, probably in the summer of my second or third year, while I was doing an internship at a local newspaper. You see my Egyptian immigrant community, out of a desire for stability, pushed young people into well-paying and well-known professions - doctor, engineer, pharmacist, lawyer, etc. The idea of doing something in the arts and humanities for your future wasn't encouraged, or even understood. But this bishop from Egypt who was visiting my family saw and understood that an immigrant community thrives when it also expresses itself culturally. We had our doctors, engineers, lawyers and pharmacists. We now needed writers, artists, musicians. So around the dinner table when others asked me if I planned to be a doctor, he interjected. "No," he said. "She's going to be a writer."
I had a friend who was studying to be a life coach and I agreed to be her client to help her get a certification. She noticed by deep seated dream to be a writer that was buried under my current career and she recommended a book to me called "The Courage to Write" by Ralph Keyes. I signed up for creative writing courses and joined a writing group after that.
I don't remember. I've been hearing it as long as I can remember. I remember the first time a woman I admired referred to me as "budding writer" and I swelled with love for her.
My third grade teacher. Thanks Mrs. Bacon!
My dad! He loved my letters written home from college and it made me think maybe other people might someday like my writing, too…
My mom. She is a woman of many notebooks. And, surpise, so am I!
My sister, Debi. She asked me what I would do if I had twenty years of my life back to start again. I said I would be a writer, wistfully. She opened my laptop and found a writing class in my neighborhood and I enrolled that evening. Thanks to my big sister!
My second grade teacher Mrs Taylor positively redirected my outlandish storytelling into writing, and then my mom double-downed and I was submitting and getting recognition in Cricket Magazine story contests supported by her proofreading but not editing throughout elementary school.
My mom, but it initially wasn't a creative-outlet thing; it was because when I spoke, she was the only person who knew what I was saying. I was in speech therapy for ten years, and even though I was an early (even , she had to translate me for my own dad until I was five. Turns out, because I spoke so fast and without much thought, my writing was far better than my ramblings (still true today!) and by primary school, she and my teachers were encouraging me to work on my creative writing.
Grandma Kling passed me the stub of a pencil and an empty envelope out of her purse in the pew. She thought it would keep me out of trouble. Ha.
I don't remember the first person who ever encouraged me to write - it was probably a teacher - but the first person to ever encourage me to be a writer was, believe it or not, a bishop, when I was in high school, probably in the summer of my second or third year, while I was doing an internship at a local newspaper. You see my Egyptian immigrant community, out of a desire for stability, pushed young people into well-paying and well-known professions - doctor, engineer, pharmacist, lawyer, etc. The idea of doing something in the arts and humanities for your future wasn't encouraged, or even understood. But this bishop from Egypt who was visiting my family saw and understood that an immigrant community thrives when it also expresses itself culturally. We had our doctors, engineers, lawyers and pharmacists. We now needed writers, artists, musicians. So around the dinner table when others asked me if I planned to be a doctor, he interjected. "No," he said. "She's going to be a writer."
My mother.
I had a friend who was studying to be a life coach and I agreed to be her client to help her get a certification. She noticed by deep seated dream to be a writer that was buried under my current career and she recommended a book to me called "The Courage to Write" by Ralph Keyes. I signed up for creative writing courses and joined a writing group after that.
My second-grade teacher back home in Haiti, Madame Moise. I wish I'd started sooner! Life was lifing...but I'm writing now.
Fourth grade teacher. My best year yet! I aspire to be my fourth grade self as much as possible.
Nancy Aronie, a true gem on M.V. ma.
My older (not oldest) sister, Cynthia -thanks for asking, what about you?
I don't remember. I've been hearing it as long as I can remember. I remember the first time a woman I admired referred to me as "budding writer" and I swelled with love for her.
My aunt Lora 🥹