Four Books in Forty Years, a guest post by Stacy Nokowitz

I wrote a book when I was 10 years old. The book was titled Herbert C. Gnome Stranded in New Jersey. A nice man at my father’s architectural firm illustrated a cover for it and bound it with blue electrical tape:

There was no doubt in my 4th grade mind that I would become a writer when I grew up. All I ever did as a kid was read, write, and roller skate. Noel Streetfeild’s whole Shoes series, A Cricket in Times Square, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, The Carp in the Bathtub, The Trumpet of the Swan, A Wrinkle in Time, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, Harriet the Spy, Every single book written by Judy Blume…I measured my years by how many times I’d read those books. I wrote Star Wars fan fiction before I knew there was such a thing as fan fiction. I filled notebook after notebook with stories I don’t even remember now. I was so sure, so obstinately certain, that I was destined to become a writer.