I didn’t start out an adversary to writing.
During what I now consider the pinnacle of my writing prowess, aka the third grade, my classmates regarded me as a deft and literate comrade. I distinctly remember their tiny, gawking faces when I would be the first one to hand in our in-class essays, and then watching them form again when the teacher would read my work out loud. For once in my short-lived academic career, I felt like I was excelling compared to my peers.
I was a young J.K. Rowling in the making. I was a genius!
Belle Can Read 