When I was 15, I announced to my English class that I was going to write my own books．All the students nearly fell out of their chairs, 1 me．“Don’t be 2 ．Only geniuses(天才)can become writers,” the English teacher said sarcastically(讽刺地)．“And you are getting a D this term．” I was 3 deeply and I burst into tears．
That night I wrote a short, sad poem about 4 dreams and mailed it to the Capper’s Weekly newspaper．To my 5 , they published it, and sent me two dollars．I was a(an) 6 writer! I showed my teacher and fellow students．They laughed again．“Just plain dumb luck,(纯属侥幸)” the teacher said．However, I’d tasted 7 ．I’d sold the first thing I’d ever written．
By the time I graduated from high school(with a C-minus average), I had scrapbooks filled with my published 8 ．I never talked about my writing to my 9 , friends or my family again．They were 10 killers, and if people must choose between their friends and their dreams, they must always choose their dreams．
Later, I wrote a book about what I understood and 11 about life．It took me nine months, just like a(an) 12 ．I chose a publisher and wrote a letter, which 13 ：“I wrote this book myself, I 14 you like it．Chapters(章节)6 and 12 are my 15 ．Thank you．” I mailed it without an envelope．
A month later, I 16 a letter, and a request to start working on 17 book．Crying Wind became a bestseller, and was translated into 15 languages．People ask what college I attended, what degrees I have, and what qualifications(品质)I have to be a writer．The answer is 18 ．I just write．I’m not a genius, and I’m not gifted．I just write．To all those who dream of 19 , I’m shouting at you, “Yes, you 20 ! Don’t listen to them!” Writing is easy．It’s fun, and anyone can do it．
In my third year as a high school athletics coach, I gave a speech telling students and parents about the benefits of football．I gave the same 1 each year, aimin g at recruiting(招收)new team members．I talked about 2 football wasn't just for 3 athletes and how everyone could 4 from it．This year, a 5 looking couple approached me after my speech．They said their son really wanted to play football．They had tried to 6 him out of it, but he had his heart 7 on joining the team．
When they told me his name, my heart sank．Michael was five feet and ten inches tall and weighed about 108 pounds．He was a 8 boy, the constant target of other kids' jokes, and as far as I knew he had never 9 sports．I knew he would never 10 it through football practice, let 11 as a player．But we told them we could give it a try．
On the opening day of practice, Michael was the first player on the field, we did 30 minutes of warming-up 12 starting a one-mile jog around the track．I 13 my eye on Michael．At 50 yards he fell, and I helped him to his feet．“Michael,”I said,“Why don't you just 14 the mile?”He said in tears that he wanted to run with the others, so I let him go on． 15 he fell, but each time 16 himself up．
The same thing happened every day for weeks, and Michael gained strength both 17 and physically．By the last week of practice, Michael could run the mile without falling, we had 18 only one game that season, 19 the team cheered louder for Michael's run than the victory they had, Afterward, Michael approached me, and I told him how 20 I was of him．
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