It’s the chicken or the egg conundrum. Which came first?
Writers are storytellers. We dig inside our noggins like magicians about to pull a rabbit out of his hat. From words, we create people and fantastical worlds. It is magic.
I get it. We were the kids who played with imaginary friends. The ones with the faraway look in their eyes. We are those who sit in a library corner surrounded by books, unmindful of time and people passing us by.
My question is this: Is storytelling part of our genetic makeup, or were we influenced by our environment–our upbringing, lifestyle, our introduction to the world of books? I’m assuming here that most writers are readers. We deign to write because we have enjoyed reading, and we wish to tell the story we want to hear the most. Am I not too far from the truth?
My daughter is an exceptional character. She is smart, well-behaved, and very, very sweet. She’s also an artist (which is a talent that runs in the family–my Dad is an amazing artist. So are my siblings.) When she started preschool at the age of 4, she learned how to read and took off with it before I can say Ay caramba! (That’s my contribution to Cinco de Mayo. Ha!) Now she’s a first grader and has a reading level equivalent of a third grader (her teacher tells me she has trouble finding my kid a reading group at school).
Lately she’s been saying she wants to be an Author and an Illustrator when she grows up–along with being a ballerina dancer, an artist/painter, and an actress. *grins* She is fond of writing down stories (I’ve kept the ones she made when she was only five–they were mostly about mermaids and princesses.) For a school project, she made a story about Bronson, a little mouse guy. Check out her cover art:
I am excited to read the story, but I can’t see it til the end of the school year. Her teacher is typing up the story and turning it into a book.
So I ask you again: Genetics or Environmental? Or both?
What do you think?