In fifth grade, we were asked to draw a picture of ourselves in the occupation we wanted to do when we grew up. As an eleven year old, it was a daunting task. What do I want to be when I grow up? In fact, I found the answer only within the last year or two (i.e. be a writer), but when I was eleven, it seemed like a much harder question to answer.
I ran through many ideas, but the picture I drew was of my being a lion tamer. Yes, you read that correctly. I wanted to be a lion tamer. No, unfortunately, I don’t know where that picture when to.
I would’ve given anything to work with big cats. They’re majestic, beautiful, powerful, and so cute. Okay, I would’ve likely been eaten while trying to hug it. Oh, well. Now, I tame little cats…or rather they tame me.
I suppose writing isn’t too different than being a lion tamer. You have a majestic, beautiful, powerful idea, and you have to find a way to tame it and put it on the page without it eating you alive.
So perhaps I’m a bit of a lion tamer after all.
