As I unpacked a box yesterday, this photo fell out. It was taken when I was five or six, and just learning to hold a pencil. In other words, right about the time I started writing stories. (Where “writing” means “drawing stick figures of ponies” and “stories” means “what I told my mom about the ponies.”) Call me a graphic novelist. My first effort was titled “Pearl, a Horse.” Pearl worked in the traces pulling a plow. Her owner was mean. In the final drawing, she jumped the fence. FREEDOM!
Moral: Sometimes your passion calls to you early. Don’t ignore it. Even if it takes decades, find a way to do what you love.