You are allowed to laugh. You are allowed to read, just don’t laugh out too loud.
Today is my birthday and unfortunately I don’t have time to take for painting. But I hope this makes up to it.
I have probably already told you how it became to life. Which is pretty much the story, why I began with this crazy thing called writing in the first place. But so that the picture and the story are in the same place ->
In 1996 summer, for that’s when it was, I wanted to read romance stories. So I asked my grandma, if she had any books I could read and she said she did have one that would be just perfect for me. We started searching for it, went through all the bookshelves, and there were many, got to the very end in the utmost corner of the last one, when she suddenly turned on the chair she was standing on, and said.
“Now I remember! I borrowed it to a girlfriend of mine in 1960 something and she left it on a bench in bus station!”
And just like that the search was over.
By that time I had already listened her tell me all about that book, how it was nice and thick, the stories would be one or two pages long and there were many of them in one book. How it didn’t have a cover any more and how it even carried few illustrations.
Of course I was upset and felt cheated and I couldn’t let that frustration go – I wanted to read THAT book. Didn’t matter that somebody had lost it two decades before I was even born. I wanted THAT BOOK! Nothing else she offered worked.
So she did the only thing she could – she put some old application in front of me, gave me a pen and told me to write it myself then just the way I wanted it.
Big mistake. 20 years later she still says it was a big mistake. But worthy of making.