Do you remember the first story you ever wrote? With me it was a cute little story called The Mouse House when I was in third or forth grade, written on a manual, non-electric typewriter my mom got me at a pawn shop.
I still remember a little of the story:
There was a house
In the house lived a mouse.
It was a mouse house!
I don’t remember the rest of the story word for word, premise was that the mouse owned the house. It wasn’t a house owned by humans and the mouse just lived between the walls. The basic plot was the this bad exterminator guy was trying to take over the house and mouse confronted him on the issue. The exterminator wasn’t moved by mouse’s arguments and attempted to catch the mouse. The rest of the story involved the mouse outwitting the exterminator, who eventually gave up.
Ah, memories. The story was simple, of course, but the reason for writing it was the same as with my new stories. There was something in my head and heart that had to come out, had to be shared.
I don’t remember the first story I ever read, but I was a big fan of Green Eggs and Ham at the time.