The combination of my isolated lifestyle in the mountains, lots of free time, and a love of stories and reading all culminated in my early discovery of my love of writing. I don't remember exactly what age I began (seven or eight, I think), but I remember that when we lived in Conifer I would wander down to my dad's office in the basement, climb into his giant rolly chair, and write fiction on his computer. I had my own folder in his documents for my creations. Most of them were about animals: two kittens knocking over the christmas tree (Mom sent that one out with our Christmas card), a little stingray who got lost in the ocean (that one right after I saw Finding Nemo), a researcher who discovers a telepathic ability to comminicate with wolves.
I learned very early on the rules of punctuation and sentence structure, and that's why middle school absolutely killed me: we were learning, at a very slow pace, all the rules I'd already discovered myself. I'm sort of a snob in that sense, I guess.
Anyhow, I decided when I was nine that I was going to be a novelist/naturalist when I grew up. I'm not certain that dream has entirely vanished.
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