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. Patience is not one of my virtues and by this time, I’d had it. So one day at recess, I convinced one of my friends to forego our usual games of jump rope and four square and help me get closer to him. She agreed and we set off to enact our plan.
We found Mr. Cutiepie over by the kickball field with some of his second-grade friends. “Now!” I shouted, and my friend and I rushed him. The force of the collision was enough to knock him over and send the three of us sprawling. Naturally, his friends immediately tried to separate us, but I managed to kiss him quickly before we were pried apart.
Another friend of mine and I made a tape the next year that I think I still have, detailing what our lives would be like when we grew up. My vision of my future involved marrying Mr. Cutiepie and riding motorcycles on a beach. Neither one of those things have happened, but I’m okay with that. The memories of my boy-crazy youth have provided me with more laughs than I can count, and every time I see Mr. Cutiepie around town, I recall those memories and smile.
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