When I was a little girl, I spent many afternoons with my mom playing a card game based on famous authors. It was an early introduction to literary classics, which I would treasure later—both the time spent with my mom and the reading of those books. My mom probably could have won a lot of the games, but the longer we played, the more I remembered about the books the authors wrote. It also kept me busy so I wasn’t bored while my sister was playing with her friends at their houses.

As I grew older, I developed a fondness for the books from the author card game. Little Women was one book I was eager to tackle, but I found it difficult at such a young age. I read it again a year later and fell in love with Laurie from the very start. I was so mad at Jo for not marrying him! That was probably my first sense of betrayal by an author.

By the age of twelve, I found myself wanting to write my own stories. At school, we had to stand up and read our stories, and everyone knew that when it was my turn, it was time to sit back and enjoy. My stories were five pages long, which was unusual for that age!

I never became a writer like I hoped, having turned toward art instead, but I’ll always remember those card games with my mom.