I'm a writer. It's what I do. I often exceeded the word/page minimum requirement in high school and was no stranger to writing papers for every class in college after declaring my English major. And even after college, I had to write essays to get into a summer publishing program.
Since then, however, I haven't had to write an essay. And I still don't, but just finished one. And it wasn't because I had to, but because I wanted to. Never have I ever written an essay outside of college to submit to an essay contest.
I was reading Real Simple magazine and came across an essay contest titled "When did you first understand the meaning of love?"
Light bulb.
That sentence immediately made me think of something from my childhood that was just too good of a story to not have it written down. So I wrote it down (with invented dialogue and embellishments, although it's based on a true story) and submitted it, then sent a copy to my inspiration: my parents.
My mom shocked me when she said she vaguely remembered this mostly because I remember it so vividly. My story is based on the time that my dad borrowed our neighbor's phone to call my mom and ask her on a date, and then rang the doorbell to "pick her up" for the date a few days later. It's strange what touches you and then stays with you to help shape the person you become, but my parents have done this many times over.
Although I have no expectations of winning, as I know they get thousands of submissions, it was more for me to relive that memory and write it down for my parents, who told me this year as they celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary that they've never been so much in love.
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