I shuffled a few pieces of loose leaf papers together on my desk and stapled them. I opened to the first page, put pen to paper and began to write out my short story, along with illustrations (my “books” always had illustrations.) The first page would always say, “Written by Shannon Crino” in perfect cursive penmanship. Then, dressed in my neatly pressed green plaid St. James school uniform, I would bring it to the front of the class and place it next to the other books my fifth grade teacher had organized for our daily reading time. I’d then sit and eagerly await my classmates to take one of my books and read them. I’d patiently watch their expressions as they would finger through the pages, and when they’d look up, their eyes meeting mine, they’d smile.
That sealed the deal for me when it came to writing. I knew I wanted to be putting words on pages that meant something to someone. A way I could resonate with them. For the rest of my life. Read more