It starts when I was the young dork in class in third grade, the one who read above what she should be able to. It was reading time, time to get your book out and read quietly to yourself. I had already finished my book, and was off on a to get a new one in the section of the classroom that withheld our supply of books. The class buzzed as they prepared to read their small puny books.
A green-yellow book caught my eye. If I remember it correctly, the book was call The something, The girl, and the Dragon. It was something about this girl who had issues doing magic, and near the end a dragon came into play. I was captivated. The thrill of the mythical world and magic seized hold in my mind. I began to scour my library for anything with dragons, about the good in them, proving to others that dragon weren't as bad as they were cut out to be.
And though I moved on and read about other creatures, dragons still had a place burning in my heart. I researched about them, read up on them, and collected many dragon items. The serpentine figures and fire breath thrilled me. I saw them as beautiful when others saw them as horrendous.
To this day, I still love dragons. They are such wonderful creatures.
Back to my history:
The next year, in fourth grade, I began to write. Stories unfolded, creatures that had never been known before became alive on paper. The more creative I became, the more I wrote. Sometimes it was dragons, sometimes it was foxes (my favorite animal before I liked wolves), and sometimes it was a mix of both. But dragons never seemed to stray from me.
Dragons reign in my very core. They describe me like no other animal: not what everybody thinks they are, but inside a fire rages, ready to defend for what they believe and always prepared to take flight into an open sky.