Like many authors, I’ve been writing since I could hold a crayon. One of my best poems was written on a computer boasting a Windows 95 operating system.

At the ripe age of five, I promised myself I’d be–not only a writer–but an author. In my mind, writers simply write something. Authors get it published.

I penned my first novel with a friend of mine in junior high. We never finished that novel,  but I’m sure I have the spiral-bound beginning somewhere. Maybe.

Throughout high school, I wrote songs and poetry, one of which made it into the school magazine.

But the journey didn’t stop there. Creative writing was one of my favorite classes in college. I thank all of my brilliant professors and TAs who taught me not only how to write a story, but how to read one, and how to critique one.

Moreover, I thank them for teaching me how not to burn the class down if someone didn’t like elements in my story had constructive suggestions for improvement.

I’ve received recognition for my writing throughout elementary, junior and high school via various publications, awards and events.

But the most meaningful recognition I received was from two of my professors. Since it was more personal (and a rarity to receive from one of the professors), it somehow meant more to me than the publications.

My journey started more than two decades ago, but my story is starting now.