In some ways I guess you could say I owe being an author to a stubborn mallard duck. When I was in first grade, the teacher gave everyone in the class a very basic writing assignment. I don’t recall exactly what it was—it might have been simply to practice our letters—but I vividly remember that I chose to ignore her instructions.
Instead, I wrote a little story about my grandfather taking me to see the ducks. I described—obviously in the most rudimentary way, since I was no genius—how when we were about to drive away ...
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