Five Years a Writer

“Are you Katy’s little sister?” “Are you related to Katy?” “You look just like Katy!” I heard these comments for much of my early life. It wasn’t until I spent a year in France after high school, on my own, no family with me or gone before me where I was staying, that I realized it was possible for me to be me without my older sister as reference point. That year, I stepped out of the shadow of comparison and came into my own. An associate of mine told me of a horrible experience she had had with a professional writer whose feedback to her on a short story was, “This is terrible writing. You may as well give up right now.” My associate put down her pen for several years before having the courage to once more pick it up, and it took more time still before she dared share her writing with anyone for feedback. When I was about 11, my French teacher was Monsieur Caillé . I loved him more for his red hair and beautifully groomed beard than I did for his classes, but when my best friend’s m