I wrote a lot through school and had stories published here and there. I guess I was writing “Silver Brumby” fan fiction, as I was obsessed with horses. But my first negative review came when I wrote a story about chickens. I think I was in grade 4. The teacher asked us to write about an experience we had had on our weekend.
Now my weekend had been weird. There had been terrible storms, and after they passed, we went to visit an old lady who lived alone. She had chickens. Lots of them. During the storms, she brought them inside as their pen was wrecked.
She allowed them to wander the house. However, her son had been painting, and some paint was spilled by the chickens.
They walked in it. Little white chicken footprints everywhere. On the couch, on the table, on the bench. It was chaotic. And the most amazing, fun thing I had ever seen. Those chickens had fun!
So, I wrote about the chickens and the paint. I gave it to my teacher. She read it and tore it up, telling me I wasn’t supposed to make the story up and to go and write another story.
There was no way I could make that stuff up, Lady!


