I was seven years old when my second grade teacher assigned us the writing project that completely altered the course my life would take. We’d just finished reading one of those Farmer Brown’s Barnyard books. My teacher told us that we had to write an extended ending, and then promptly plopped down into the chair behind her desk and opened a book of her own to read.
The book’s story line is fuzzy to me now, but I remember that I enjoyed it. I always have been an avid reader, and even back in early elementary school, I jumped at the chance to get my hands on a new book. Writing, though… that was different. I’m sure we did some little assignments where we pasted a couple of sentences that were packed full of misspellings and grammatical errors onto a poorly drawn picture, but I can’t remember any of the specifics. That day, though, I decided that I was going to try my hardest to write an ending that would do such a great book justice.
Finally, after working almost the entire class on my ending, I turned in three full pages of writing. I imagine that there was a gigantic smile pasted on my face, since just thinking about that day makes me grin like mad. Continue reading