Dear Reader:

I have always considered myself to be a reflective person. I think I get that from my Dad. I am the second oldest of four children. My brother, Kieran, was an inquisitive child. He always wanted to know how everything worked: a dishwasher, a radio, a clock, a car. He was constantly talking and constantly asking questions. My mom recalls how she would buy books to satisfy his curiosity about How Kitchen Appliances Work or A Guide to Car Engines. She also joked about putting him to sleep at five o’clock so she could have some peace and quiet.

I, on the other hand, was very different, quiet, and reserved. I could never get a word in, especially not with Kieran around, and especially not with Kieran, Anna and James around. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that I have been drawn to writing. I think that writing requires a great deal of reflection and conscious thought. As I said earlier, I consider myself to be a very conscientious and reflective, like my Dad.

My mom used to send me on errands with my Dad. She says that she still wonders what our conversations were like, if, at times, there were any at all. A running joke in the family (be warned I am sure you all will be hearing a lot of stories about my family) is that one time I had been silent for a while in the car, peering out the window. My dad asked me what I was thinking about and I replied simply, “Math.”

Math. That story still perplexes me. Why would I have been thinking about math? I do not really like math. I was never terrible at math, but I also never really had any interest in math. Well, except of course, in that car, when I was about five years old. One aspect of math that I do like, however, is that it is straightforward. There is generally one answer and either you get it or you don’t. In that way, math is kind of refreshing, especially for me. I enjoy a sense of order, I like things to be organized and systematic and refined.

At the same time, however, I love being creative and exploring new mediums. I think I just do it in my own, reserved way. For that reason, I think that this course is going to be a challenge for me. I seriously considered walking out of the door yesterday. Throughout Barbara’s whole speech, my skin was crawling and my palms started to sweat. However, for some odd reason, I remained were I was seated. I even argued my case as to why I should be chosen. Even when I was told to go figure out which two people out of a group of five eager writers would get to stay in the class and I was only inches away from the door, I still did not leave. Then one boy bowed out. There were four people, but only two spots. Barbara resorted to ini mini mini mo. First time around, I wasn’t picked. I was relieved. Second time around, I had a two out of three chance of being safe, of getting off easy. But, I was chosen and invited into the inner circle. I read my first piece aloud and I survived. I think I am ready to be pushed and I hope you all will join in and push me.

Here’s to a great semester,

Clare

p.s. I am a terrible speller. My grammar school failed me. I spell story wrong a lot, but there is a legitimate reason for that. I write storey instead, because Storey is my middle name. I love my middle name. I wish it had been my first name. Although, pursuing creative writing with a name like Storey would be kind of strange. I am thinking about naming my daughter Storey so I hope she has no aspirations to write. Although, I guess she could always change it.