In third grade, my school held a contest where we had to write and illustrate our own children’s book. I poured myself into it, finishing the story and drawings in a single week. It was a tale about an unlikely friendship between an ostrich and a snake, two creatures no one expected to walk the same path.

About a week later, during a school assembly, my name was called. I walked to the front thinking it was just another announcement, only to hear that my book had been chosen for publication in the local library. They printed and laminated five copies and placed them on the shelves like they belonged there all along.

Not long after, my parents took me to see it for myself. We found the book waiting quietly in the stacks, and my father read it back to me while I stood there trying to understand how my words had become something real.

I can still feel the electricity that ran through nine year old me when I saw my name sitting among the books.

I know that feeling is coming back again soon. My name will find its way onto shelves once more. Just watch.