my story Angel-Clare Linton, April 19, 2024 When I was a child, I loved playing in the garden at my grandparents’ house because they let me roll around in the dirt. After being out in the sun for around thirty minutes to an hour, I would come back inside, and my grandparents would have lunch waiting for me. Most of the time, it would consist of either toast with melted cheese on top and orange juice or porridge and orange juice, alongside strawberries and blueberries at the side. After eating, I would crash on the couch in their living room as they watched some TV show. Then, after waking up, I would play with the dolls they allowed me to keep in this spare bedroom they had just for me whenever I would spend the night. As I grew older, I continued to visit my grandparents, but instead of rolling around in the dirt, I would sit in the backyard with my laptop as my grandmother gardened, which was something she had always done. I would sit on this chair my grandmother set out, and she and I would talk as I typed away at whatever story I was working on. Sometimes, she would ask me to read what I wrote, and I would read it to her. By the time I reached my early twenties, my grandparents were already dead. I took it pretty hard. By then, I was already entering my creative writing career and close to finishing my first novel, which I subsequently read to my grandmother and, later, my grandfather. They were my biggest fans and supported me with my writing, so I dedicated my first book to them. Then, I published my book a year and a half after they died. And that is how my story began. Related Multimedia