Six years old and crazy already

I hate to make sweeping generalizations, but I think all writers are a little bit crazy in their own unique way.  Tales about eccentric and reclusive writers throughout history abound.  In my online writing group, the Alliance of Worldbuilders, every time someone pops their head into the forum thread to join in for the first time, we try to warn them that we’re all mad here.  Sometimes, they happily throw their own unique madness into the mix right along with ours and hilarity ensues.

My own particular brand of crazy began developing at a very young age.  See, there was this boy in my class.  We met in preschool and it was love at first sight.  Well, it was love at first sight for me, anyway.  He wanted nothing to do with me.  But that was only because he didn’t know me!  So I followed him around the classroom like a puppy, from the blocks to the sand table to the picture books and back.

When we started kindergarten, it was more of the same.  He made my little five-year-old heart flutter so!  But still, every time he saw me, he would take off running.  How on Earth was he supposed to get to know me if he wouldn’t stand still long enough to talk to me?  If he wouldn’t get to know me, we couldn’t fall madly in love!

But then first grade arrived.