Once upon a time my writing mimicked clichés. Now, if I could go back in time, I would smirk at the petite girl proudly writing a whole book (with giant drawings on each page). I remember yelling to my mom as I shook my crayon smudged paper like a student receiving a college acceptance letter. I’m not a procrastinator either, I read the twilight series as a fourth grader. Reading has improved my vocabulary and helped me realize there’s a world outside my own. My brothers and I live in the middle of the woods and spend all our time together. Normally, a person would relate someone who stayed at home to a hermit. Even though I am somewhat of a recluse, having nine family members prevents me from having peaceful solitude. I’m beginning to think my four brothers drove me to becoming an introvert! Does anyone else want to sit down in a quiet atmosphere and write?