The Writing Is On The Wall

I have been a writer since I was a little. I loved crayons, pens, pencils, paint, and markers. Back then we didn't have "washable" markers, but the regular ole Crayola markers got the job done. I had a sixth sense for knowing any time the permanent markers were left out, and even though I knew I wasn't supposed to use them, it was like I completely lost all self-control was forced to make my mark on something! Usually, I would write on a wall or in a book, sometimes even the bedroom or bathroom door.

My parents finally decided it was hopeless to try to paint over or replace whatever I had written on and I would usually get off with a warning or stern talking to. But now and then I liked to push the limits, like the time I colored this beautiful five story, white with blue trim, doll house my dad made for me with a red magic marker because it was Christmas time and my babies needed their house decorated for the holidays. That story ended with my dad repainting the doll house and giving it away to my cousin; he even made me ride with him to deliver it! I don't have proof of the baby or most of my other masterpieces, but I do have pictures of some of my other handy work.
My parents finally decided it was hopeless to try to paint over or replace whatever I had written on and I would usually get off with a warning or stern talking to. But every now and then I liked to really push the limits, like the time I colored this beautiful 5 story, white with blue trim, doll house my dad made for me with a red magic marker because it was Christmas time and my dolls needed their house decorated for the holidays. That story ended with my dad repainting the doll house and giving it away to my cousin, he even made me ride with him to deliver it! I don't have proof of the doll or most of my other masterpieces but I do have pictures of some of my other handy work.