Hello, this is Mariella. 

I've often wondered what makes a writer. I never claimed to be one, because I wrote for myself. Even now, very few people know that I write.

Of the many gifts I received from my parents, the most important one was the encouragement to try things they didn't do themselves. They didn't understand their strange child so different from themselves and her brothers. I had a need to create. My parent's home over the years became a gallery for my artwork. Most of it now resides in the homes of my children and siblings. There hasn't been an empty wall in my home in years.

What fills a child with lifelong inspiration? In my case, it was my parents and two specific teachers. The first, was a grade school teacher who gave me two compliments in one by praising my art on the cover of a written story and the A+ grade was a boost, too. That was in sixth grade.

The second was a seventh-grade teacher who had a reputation for being tough. I was a new student to the school, my family having moved again because of my father's military deployment. I'd heard horror stories from the other kids about this teacher. 

I was shocked when the teacher returned my writing assignment with a red copy editing marks all over my pages—something I'd never seen before. I was so embarrassed. I turned it over on my desk so no one else could see it. 

My wonderful teacher, though, was walking around the classroom returning the assignments papers to the students, returned to my desk. He turned over my stapled pages. Without a word, he tapped the top of the page with his finger. 

I had missed it. Written across the top of the lined notebook page, in red was:

A+++ Best story I've ever read from a student! Ever! Keep writing!

That single incident has never been forgotten. Mr. Gregory taught me so much that year, but most importantly, he gave me encouragement. I kept writing and I have never stopped.