In this guest post, Literary Mama reader Melissa Uchiyama shares her creative spirit.
For me, it was astronaut or artist. Always the mysteries of the universe fleshed out, explored in the medium of swirly, gobby paint. I was the creative child, seeking a life of beauty and adventure, wondering why I couldn’t keep my room neat.
Before long, writing snagged and tagged me, too. I don’t remember scribbling or scrawling, writing in some girly padlocked diary or on yellow legal pads. I do recall confidently pushing down electric typewriter keys, racing to that next line, entranced by the serif font and the whirring of electricity. I held my neck high, fingers pert like those of a concert pianist.