I’ve been writing since I learned how to write. When I was eleven, I started a novel which was dedicated to three pets and typed on notebook paper. Here is an excerpt from chapter one: 

Today me and my sister went shopping. This is also the day I bought this book. The reason is I am going to have an eye operation. The operation will be some time in July or even in June. I am sort of scared though. After all, I’m only eight. The thought of some strange person cutting open my eye while I am sleeping really doesn’t cheer me up much at all.

I got the hang of staying on the line and not smashing words at the end of lines in grade school which came in handy when I wrote and illustrated two books for the Young Author’s Conference. The first one, The Bear That Does Not Care, explored existential nihllism. It did not win. The following year, I angrily wrote a book about a fairy using lots of pink and yellow which did win. I was probably a better writer in fourth grade, but I was also a bitter writer.