Sunday, January 24, 2010

When I was young, I use to doodle quite a bit and write little notes to myself and liked writing letters. Working as a waitress in my Aunt's restaurant in the Okanagan one summer I would pen many letters to my parents and one day, my Dad said to me, "Gee, you sure had lots to say about Penticton. My goodness, there were always so many pages to read that you should have no trouble writing a book." I merely laughed and never thought about his words at all. After all, I was a teenager and I had other things to think about. I also loved books and libraries. Every spare moment I had I would wander down to Main & Hastings Street to check out books from the library's fiction section even though I thought it was a spooky place with stuffed wild animals like bears and tigers hanging on their walls. It was easy to get there since Chinatown was just around the block but I will never forget the dark grey brick building on the corner that always appeared so dark and mysterious. I must have been brave to have gone there myself in those days. Perhaps even then I knew that I was going to someday become a writer.

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