When I was in the 1st grade, I wrote a book called Sometimes. This book was more of a poem, with a line of prose starting with the word “sometimes” in the center of an 8×11 white paper all bound together with a few staples. I showed it around to various family members and grown-ups who all admired and seemed impressed by it. Was it because a 7 year old made a picture book purposely without pictures? Or perhaps the fact that I wrote a book at all without being asked or instructed and wanted the world to know “Sometimes I am sad and don’t know why” and “Sometimes I do not want a cookie but will eat one anyway”? The world may never know, but sometimes I forget how inspiring little kids can be.
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