When I was in third grade, my teacher showed us how to “make our own books”. She would make hard cover blank books for us with cereal box covers and hand sewn binding, and we could publish our stories. All of my stories ended with girls wishing for peace on earth. I’m not sure why I was so fixated on that. I was however, hooked on writing. I think I published about eight of my own books that year. I’m fairly certain I did one in second grade too, but I can’t remember how that would have worked out.
Anyway, I wrote stories all through high school and by the time I graduated I wasn’t too bad at it. I gave up on writing full length novels though. I enjoyed the symbolism and shortness of shorter fiction way too much. For a long time after that, I wrote non-fiction and only half finished short stories if I had a vivid dream that I thought could turn into a great story. I rarely finished even those, although I have a collection of really great starters.
A few months ago, I submitted some photographs to Paper Street Journal and a short story I had written based on my graduate school research. I studied the Inuit at Chedoke Sanatorium in Hamilton, but the research paper was really disjointed and without a strong argument. The Paper Street Journal published my story. It felt like a long shot, but they did, and even though it’s a newer publication, I’m still really excited about it. I guess the point is, don’t give up on your childhood dreams. They may yet surprise you.
Photos of Inuit children at Cherokee Sanatorium in Hamilton. There History is very sad, and relatively unknown. Please look into it, but start with my FICTIONAL work obviously.
Check it out here: The Unnamed Baby, by Charity Blaine.