Saturday, September 26, 2015

How to become a writer. . .

Here I am reading, back when I was Dorothea Johnson
Well, I can't speak for all writers, but I will say that the way I became a writer was by reading when I was a kid. All the time. Under bed covers. In closets. (It was very noisy at our house with five kids, and lots of instruments being played.) And once in awhile, if it was relatively quiet, I even read in the living room, as I am doing here.

I think I was in the third grade in this picture.  I can only tell that because of the giant Raggedy Andy doll that is sharing the chair with me. I remember holding him on my lap when I read a poem ("There are Fairies in the Bottom of my Garden") to open our third grade production of a play about Raggedy Ann and Andy.  I don't know why they asked me to read that: it had nothing to do with R. Ann and Andy. But I sat out in front of the curtain on stage and read it. I think I ignored the audience and pretended I was just reading to R. Andy.  

I have no idea why there is a yardstick poking out from the chair.

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