As many know by now, I have stepped aside as your RA after having a heart attack and bypass surgery in May. Jean Daigneau is once again your fearless leader, and my hero. My last column for you will be about what happens on your way to becoming a writer. I hope it makes you smile. . .

Many times, writers know as they emerge from the egg that they want to be writers. Not me.

I wanted to be Hopalong Cassidy. Heartless family members pointed out that the job was already taken. Let alone that I would still be a girl when I grew up! Well, fine, I’d pick something else.

Writing was not on the list. I hated writing. As a leftie, I was constantly being criticized for writing “funny.” So it was a little slanted to one side. Maybe even a lot to one side. One teacher asked me if the letters were tired, that they were leaning over so far.

Then came high school, and “writing” meant producing strings of words for reports, and “papers.” Now the real terror kicked in. Not only was I a terrible typist, (this in the days when there were no keys labeled “backspace” or “delete.”) I seemed to be somewhat deficient in the attention department, as well.

In those long ago dinosaur days of education, students were not categorized as ADD, ADHD, or dyslexic. We were called “flighty”, “scatterbrained” (my father’s favorite) or the kinder and gentler “wifty.” An error in those days meant erasing all three copies of the opus, or tearing it out of the machine and starting over (again). Sob!

No, I definitely did not want to be a writer. I decided I wanted to be a pharmacist. It was scientific (a big favorite), sort of noble, and you stayed clean all day. Good job. I hadn’t, however, given much thought to the education required.

In the very first semester, I discovered it was possible to fail chemistry after hours of study and lab! I also learned that it was possible to get A’s in English without any serious effort at all. I became an English major.

Now the writing was fun. Study Robert Frost and write about him. I loved it! Read all the old poets and analyze the writing. Wonderful!
Jump ahead twenty years. I got a job in a small library, and one of the parts of the job was presenting “story times.” Over the next 19 years, I presented story times up to ten times a week. I was in Heaven. There is no cure for ham, and I was in my element.

I discovered the power of “story” in the lives of children and adults, and I fell into my niche. Decades earlier, my mother had instilled that love of story when she read to all of us at home, and it bloomed in me.

As I step back from serving as your Regional Advisor, I hope you find your niche, too, and bloom into your role as illustrator or writer.

Best from Blossom Farm,

Annette Sheldon
RA Northern Ohio SCBWI