If you told me I was going to be a writer when I was in fifth grade, I would've rather jumped into a kiddie pool full of spiders (I have crippling arachnophobia).

I used to associate creative writing with being pulled from class parties because I needed "extra help." I can still hear my classmates 'oooohs' of shame and the burning humiliation on my face whenever Mrs. Shay walked in to collect me. 

Instead of swapping Valentines or playing holiday games with my friends, I traversed through seas of red underlines and spelling corrections. I lost count of how many times I had to rewrite those essays.

Nowadays, I get to write so much that my keyboard is a few shades lighter. 

I may have missed out on years of Valentine's cards, but at least now I’m the one with the red pen.