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Last night at dinner, one of the kids took an empty small book that an adult folded for her and wrote a story. She didn’t pause except when the pen she was using ran out of ink. I handed her another one and she plowed on to the end.

I am jealous.

Even as a kid, I would have wanted to save the book for something really good. I would be afraid to mess it up. I would have wanted to practice on some other paper and then carefully, in my best handwriting, copy over the results into the book. There is no need for that.

The story had every essential element. There was an engaging protagonist with a specific problem, an exciting conflict, and a surprising solution to the problem. If a person of seven can grasp this, why do I struggle so much?


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Nov. 15th, 2008 04:58 pm (UTC)
Because she is young enough that she hasn't had limitations pounded into her - both externally, and internally. Right now, there's nothing between her imagination and the pen in her hand, so when she has ideas, they are able to flow freely. We, on the other hand, as adults, have a ton of limiting beliefs about ourselves, our abilities as writers, and also about what in our stories would seem interesting or plausible, etc. With any luck, she'll keep writing and maybe avoid some of that stuff that makes it difficult for you. (It also sounds like some of that stuff got pounded into you at a pretty young age. I was like that, a bit - perfectionist. It amazes me to see Connor pick up papr and pen and sit down to draw. Drawing in PEN? What the hell? And then he goes and draws something really awesome, with great proportions. I don't think I ever had the confidence for that, either).
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )



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