Ever since I was about six years old, nearly everything I saw, overheard or witnessed from afar, learned in school, or simply wondered about, I turned—in my head at first—into books and plays and movies and articles. I don’t know why. That’s just the way it was.

But back then the only thing I could do was work hard on my writing projects and hope I was a good enough to make a career out of it one day.

I actually wrote a screenplay when I was 12 and sent it to MGM. A musical western, no less, called “Crooked Dreams.” MGM turned it down, but in his note back to me, an executive at the studio named Roger Ahrens wrote, “You have an extremely imaginative style and talent, and we will be happy to consider what you may produce in the future,” which made me feel as if I should never give up.

The following year, my English teacher, Miss Fronefield, called me to the front of the classroom. “Joel, your book report is too well written for a ninth-grader,” she said, looking stern, annoyed, and bored, all at the same time. “You plagiarized it. Bring this note home to your parents. I need to speak with them immediately.” The thing is, I did not plagiarize that darn report. I just take writing seriously. Always have. Always will.

That settled it! From that point on, I’ve never given up.

I still haven’t had a screenplay produced (by MGM or anyone else for that matter), but my factual anecdote has gone a long way toward helping me to get writing assignments. And Miss Fronefield? Well, I don’t think I ever spoke to her again, but I did dedicate one of my books to her.