Hello, I’ve returned.
I have a few things planned for these next few weeks, but they are taking more time than I thought they would. (Not too much though. No worries.) So, in light of a slight delay, I thought I might talk about a few writer-ly things about myself in the form of a brief backstory. If this were a movie, there would be some classical music in the background. Maybe cello or saxophone.
I was around the age of twelve or thirteen when I realized that I wanted to be a writer. The appeal of creating extravagant stories by spinning words into worlds, just like the authors of my favorite books did was enough to fill me with the passion and drive to make sure I got where I wanted. For a year or so after my realization, I daydreamed about the stories I wanted to write and read books like I was starving and literature was the only food in the world. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I actually began to work on writing those books. I am still working on the first, because I will accept nothing less than the best I can do, but soon it should theoretically be perfect. Of course soon is a matter of opinion. 🙂
It actually wasn’t until fall of last year that I began to write poetry. The thought had never appealed to me much—it seemed like that would mean restricting my wordy nature and cut out too much of what I wanted to say. … Then I actually attempted to write a poem. Granted, it was for an English class, and granted it was rushed when I scribbled it across my paper. Yet, when I looked back at it to revise before I turned it in, I was taken aback. I found that it wasn’t as terrible as it had seemed when I wrote it down. After that first poem that I didn’t want to write, I wanted to see what would happen if I wanted to write a poem. And then, I couldn’t stop writing poetry.
For some reason, I’m currently reminded of a child that refuses to eat vegetables growing up to discover a love of salad. Not that I like that rabbit food … gross.
But, I digress. The next thing I did after finding out that poetry has more freedom, variation, and movement to it than I originally thought, was to start a blog. It was a birthday present to myself, and I won’t hesitate to say that blogging has helped me grow as a writer. Sometimes it seems like I’m screaming into the void, but it’s worth it. The blog keeps me writing, and it’s actually more fun than I thought it would be. 🙂
Next up in my writing adventure was my decision to reach out to other authors. I formed lasting relationships, and joined a solid community in a town I thought wouldn’t have one, especially not one as wonderful as what I found when I went looking for it. They’re all wonderful people—turns out that writers get along really well with each other, despite being interested in vastly varying genres of writing.
Writing is a journey. There’s so much to do and much more to learn—about both yourself and your writing. There will be days when writing will be the hardest thing in the world, days when the thought alone will crush you. Other days, you’ll notice you’ve already written upwards of 2,000 words and don’t feel like you’ll stop anytime soon. The important thing, is that you keep writing and don’t give up. My dreams have been in the making for longer than I thought they would need. But you know what? That’s okay. For now, I’m going to write poetry on my blog in my corner or the internet, and daydream about the day other people love my characters as much as I do.
Thank you for reading this. I’m sure you’re a lovely person. ❤