Personal Narrative: My Daughter

My daughter has always loved to write. At first it was in childish scribbles, done in crayon or finger paint, but for her eighth birthday I bought her a beautiful calligraphy pen, and now it’s almost all she does. She’ll sit in her room for hours, writing until she runs out of ink or comes down to dinner.
She’s started school again recently, and despite my initial worries she’s made so many friends; she has one over every few days, and each time a different one. They play all day, and for the next few days it’s nothing but quiet but furious scribbling.
I don’t read everything that she writes, but she has stacks of paper on every surface in her room, completely filled with tiny, neat handwriting. She used to write on the walls too, until there was no more room to read the words anymore. I’ve asked her so many times to let me watch her write, but she always says that she’ll only invite me up if one day she doesn’t have any …show more content…
As a single parent, it’s hard to lose a child while still having to stay strong for the other, but she’s been remarkably steadfast and adjusting well. I’m certain writing out her feelings has helped her tremendously.
I’ve asked her, though, if she’s ever wanted any different colours of ink. The kind she uses is bright red and looks gorgeous at first, but I think there’s something wrong with it because over time it fades and becomes dark and flaky, and leaves a sort of metallic dust all over the floor. But she insists, and I let her.
She’s been having so few friends over lately, though. It must be something going around, because the ones I see are pale and sickly looking, and never stay for very long. She hasn’t caught whatever it is, but she has been writing less and less as of late. I think she’s running out of ink, but I don’t know where to buy her more; she says she gets it from school. It might just be a lack of motivation, too; a good old-fashioned case of writer’s