by L.C.

Created on: March 17, 2009   Last Updated: March 19, 2009

Is it possible to become addicted to writing? In my opinion, the answer is a resounding "yes", because I've been addicted to writing from the moment I first understood what it was. One of my fondest memories is that of my parents reading to me. My mother would watch as my eyes widened in shock at the words printed on the pages, and I can still remember desperately wanting to know how those little scribbles on the page made it so that she knew what was being said.

My father would take a different approach, asking me if I wanted him to read a book the "normal way" or the "funny way". When I picked the funny way, which I always did, he would proceed to make up hilarious character names and scenarios that had my brother and I in stitches. This taught me to appreciate humour in a story, and the art of storytelling itself, since my father was a natural.

Once I learned how to read (and this didn't take too long, as I was well ahead of my kindergarten classmates) my thirst still wasn't quenched. I wanted to be able to write as well. I was no more than four or five years old when I knew that I wanted to publish a book. When we had writing assignments, I would write pages upon pages, and illustrate each of them in detail, meticulously making sure to draw between the lines and use the proper colours to best demonstrate the mood and atmosphere of the story. I relished the way my classmates silently listened to my stories as I presented them, and I beamed when my teachers shook their heads in astonishment.

I was addicted to writing, and I've been ever since.

I would spend hours writing stories and formulating wild plots and fascinating characters, who would get involved in great adventures and beautiful love stories. I read the dictionary (twice), and tried to develop my vocabulary as much as I could. I went to a French elementary school, and so I soon began to write in French as well, enjoying the challenge of mastering this new language and its vocabulary.

By eighth grade, I had signed up on a fiction and fanfiction website, and stories were being cranked out daily. I couldn't stop inventing, imagining, writing, editing, learning. I read every book I could get my hands on, and Wednesday night was my favourite night of the week: after swimming lessons, my mother would treat us to dinner out, and then we would head over to the library. I was one of the first Harry Potter fans, and I can proudly say that I was one of the few people who were eagerly anticipating the release of

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