The tree house was my earliest writing place. I'd bring my spiral notebook up there and my special pen with its four interchangeable colors. I could press a button and click! Red. click! Blue. click! Green. click click! Back to red, my favorite. I'd stay up there for hours, writing, doodling, and dreaming until my sister found me. Later, my grandma typed my tree house tales on her manual typewriter while I dictated. I still have most of my stories, thanks to my sister for hanging onto them.
|My tree house wasn't quite like this one!|
|It looked more like this.|