Chicken, Eggs and the Brits

Writing about writing; very meta.

Where to begin? Some would advise right in the middle of the action! Others prefer a slower introduction. Going back into the timeline too much, and I might lose myself.

So I’ll begin somewhere in between the beginning and now.

The first time I even thought about writing was when I was 11, in the 5th grade. My class had a visiting teacher from the UK – well, teacher-in-training, I guess. When I think back on that time, I only think of him as “British TA” but that’s mostly my college years sneaking in words and concepts. If I focus, sometimes his name comes back to me as Michael, but it doesn’t always feel fully right.

In any case, this British TA who may or may not have been named Michael, he had a passion for writing. I vividly remember writing in a small, thin notebook – the answers to his writing prompts – right there in class. I don’t remember the actual prompts, but I have foggy visual memories of what I wrote, the stories I spun.

I remember his smile, his accent and his twinkling eyes (and that mop of unkempt dark hair!) as he encouraged my serial story along. It was sci-fi (foreshadowing!) and a little bit “dark,” and he was intrigued, wanted to know more about my protagonist, how it would all turn out in the end.

And so did I!

Before then, I didn’t even like reading. Now, I can’t get enough of stories, of other people’s lives, adventures and worlds.

And, I devour books!

Trilogies? Bring them on!

Multi-book series? Yes, please!

I can’t figure out if my love of books and stories started because I began writing, or if my need to write came from reading, but I do know the two are intertwined, and their source spring is British TA Michael.

For that, I will forever be grateful to him.

Wherever you are, British TA Michael, I hope you are happy. You’ve changed my life for the better; a teacher success story if I ever heard one!






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