When I was seven years old, my family and I went on a cross-country car trip, and my mother gave me this notebook and suggested that I write down what I see on the journey. Although I was nervous about writing and afraid that I would make mistakes, I wrote entries and dictated some entries for her to write down. I loved reading it over and over later.
At the age of eight, I received my first “real” diary from Santa Claus. At first I was afraid to write in it because it looked so pretty, but I did write often.
At the age of ten, my mother died. I didn’t write for a full year. Then, my writing changed. I found a little blank book that a plumbing store was giving away and in it I poured out my emotions. –Mary Amato
