For One Perfect Moment, I Love Me (ePub)

I always knew in my heart I was going to be an author, the writer of this book. I felt and knew in grade 5, when my teacher asked us to write about our dreams. I already knew what I wanted to be but could not fathom how.



This was my cue to begin. Little did anyone know, I'd been researching books of my very own since my tiny little hands could hold pencil to paper, a very hard thing to learn at the time.



Thanks, Mum! She set about giving us as many pens, coloring pencils, and paint. Actually, all the latest things a child could want to create-within reason, of course. Every Christmas, our little household became a creativity den. I really cannot identify our home being anything less than a magical world of writing, drawing, customizing, whatever our hearts desired.



My imagination for me was all I had growing up in the seventies. It was why I needed my dreams, learning to savor my ambitions just for me until I figured out the how, when, and why. I remember knowing it did not matter how long I took. I needed to know only one thing, one thing only. I could create whatever I wanted. Wow! I thought that in grade 5. This is seriously cool.



Things had not been seriously cool for so long. My imagination went into a manic sense of reality. Words I really should not have known or understood came tumbling out onto my exercise books. I started to write. Not only about me or this book, but about the people who had destinies that would be my signposts.



I remember thinking that Mum really does know what we needed. Although I know it was my grandmother too. I did feel slightly sorry for my teacher. She was in shock when I turned in a full twenty-page book of all my dreams-the people, places, personal things that were going to help me to write.



I do recall having used every color of the rainbow and photographic future memory too in my eyes to be more realistic. Her advice was, to this day, unbelievable:

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