[img_assist|nid=841|title=Aimee Labrie|desc=|link=node|align=right|width=86|height=100]Find an enthusiastic (and, in retrospect, possibly gay?) English teach named Mr. Calise who encourages your fledging writing efforts, including a full-length revision of Flowers for Algernon which you turn into a six act play. You imagine yourself being cast opposite Kimble Frasier who can play an excellent idiot savant. The two of you would spend hours after school in the band room rehearsing and then would come the scene with the kiss (your first stab at artistic license; no such kiss existed in the book) and you would have to practice that again and again and again and Kimble Frasier would fall in love with you and you would be married and have kids, etc., etc. Instead, the lead role goes to the lovely, perfect Julie Plankett with her effortless giggle and perfectly feathered hair. What does she know about pain? For your next writing assignment in English class, turn in an illustrated fantasy story wherein the peripheral character of “Lulie Blankett” is transformed into a troll on page one. This is how you learn that though real life may be filled with injustices, writing allows you to remake the world into the way you wish it would be.
In 10th grade, receive the Pride Award in fiction for a story you wrote about a little girl who is killed by a drunk driver. The last moment is particularly stirring: the dead girl’s bright yellow rubber ball slowly rolls down the sidewalk. The ball is meant to be a symbol of…something. You’re not sure what, but it is definitely powerful. Not only is the story filled with pathos, it also has a moral lesson to adults and children alike: Don’t drink and drive and, for God’s sake, don’t run into the street after your stupid ball.
Enjoy the praise you get from writing (mostly from your teachers and your mom). Let that become your reason for doing it—never mind about the craft itself—its main purpose becomes to get noticed; to write satirical pieces for the school newspaper, to craft anonymous love poems to Kimble Frasier, to be part of the yearbook staff and to observe how other kids your age behave, because you can never seem to get it quite right). Write short stories that take on powerful themes—lost innocence, bad haircuts that make you look like a boy, disconnection, not getting to sleep over at your best friend’s house, this feeling of being invisible to the opposite sex, wanting to grow up but being afraid to lose the comfort you can still get from sleeping with a stuffed animal.
Publish your first short story in the high school’s literary journal, Promises, in 11th grade. Notice how no one runs up to you in the hall asking for your autograph. Notice how it doesn’t make Kimble Frasier ask you to the junior prom. But notice too how satisfying it is to see your name in print. It makes you feel more real somehow. As if you actually existed.
Aimee LaBrie received her MA in writing from DePaul University in 2000 and her MFA in fiction Penn State in 2003. Her collection of short stories, Wonderful Girl, won the Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Short Fiction in 2007 and was published by the University of North Texas Press.Other stories of hers have been published in Minnesota Review, Pleiades, Quarter After Eight, Iron Horse Literary Review, and numerous other literary journals. Her short story, “Ducklings” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Pleiades.Aimee LaBrie received her MA in writing from DePaul University in 2000 and her MFA in fiction Penn State in 2003. Her collection of short stories, Wonderful Girl, won the Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Short Fiction in 2007 and was published by the University of North Texas Press.Other stories of hers have been published in Minnesota Review, Pleiades, Quarter After Eight, Iron Horse Literary Review, and numerous other literary journals. Her short story, “Ducklings” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Pleiades.