Four Little Pencils: Why I Write

                                                        
 I began my writing career as a child of nine with four little pencils and six short stories. I grew up in Bush Alaska in a tiny Bristol Bay Fishing Village. The hours I spent weaving stories was epic for a child of that age. Now it must be noted that in the mid-90s in an Alaskan Bush village, there were no computers and word processors at anyone's disposal, much a less a child's. I wrote out every story by hand with a pencil. I had four pencils all my own and I prided myself on writing well with a sharp pencil. Not owning a pencil sharpener at home (and I didn't attend the public school either), I would walk all the way down to the post office in the center of my village in order to get my 4 little pencils sharpened for another day of writing. Occasionally, I walked to the post office twice in one day. Now, some may say that sounds like a lot of trouble. Why not just buy a pencil sharpener. Well, one must understand that in the Bush, non-necessities were not readily available. Everything, included food not carried in our tiny village grocery store, had to be shipped in from Anchorage or from the lower 48. Strangely enough, I didn't mind. During the rather lengthy walks to the post office, on beautiful, sunny days, rainy days, cold, winter days, I made up more stories. I would see little children playing in School Lake, an old man driving past me, on his four wheeler, down the gravel road, children walking or biking home from school, a mother with grocery bags and somehow they would make their way into my stories. This was my time.
These daily walks set in motion many books I am working on even now, though I left my village approximately 12 years ago. I would arrive at the post office each day, my mind alive with the voices and stories I had made up on the way. They made me smile, they made my heart and soul come alive. I would present my 4 pencils of various sizes, all with various chew marks, two missing erasers, to our postmistress, a easy going, middle-aged woman who would smile with complete understanding and carefully sharpen each one for me. She never complained or said it was a bother.
And I would walk home, dreaming of more fictional tales, to share with the world, watching the people around me, the places they went and the words they said. My life as a fiction author was born. And it all started with 4 little pencils. :)