When I was fifteen, I announced to my English class that I was going to write and publish my own books. Half the students sneered, and they 1 fell out of their chairs 2 . "Don't be 3 ! Only geniuses can become 4 ," even one of them said rudely. "And you got a D last semester. " I was so badly hurt that I 5 into tears.
That night I wrote a short sad poem about broken dreams and 6 it to The Capri s' Weekly newspaper. To my astonishment, they published it and sent me two 7 . I was a published and paid writer! I showed my fellow students my work. "Just plain dumb luck," they said. However, I tasted 8 . I'd sold the first thing I'd ever written. That was 9 than any of them had done and if it was just dumb luck, that was fine with me.
During the next two years I sold dozens of 10 , letters, jokes and recipes. By the time I graduated from high school, with a C minus average, I had several scrapbooks (剪贴簿) 11 with my published works. After graduation, I never 12 my writing to my classmates again.
I had four children later. While the children 13 , I typed on my ancient typewriter. I wrote what I 14 . It took me nine months to finish my first book. I 15 a publisher at random (随意地) and mailed it without making a copy of the manuscript.
A month later I received a contract, an 16 on royalties (版税), and a request to start 17 another book. Crying Wind, the title of my book, became a 18 and was translated into fifteen languages and Braille and was sold worldwide.
Writing is 19 and anyone can do it. Of course, a little dumb luck doesn't20 .
