What writing is to me :


A spiral of thoughts swirls in my head all day long. I can rarely focus on one thing at a time without drifting into a perfect day dream where my characters are more alive than the people surrounding me. It’s when these thoughts are stirred up enough that they turn into a tornado of ideas. They pick me up off the ground, throw me into a new world, and expect me to color in the lines with imagery, dialogue, and music, and I do the best I can, because this is what makes life more beautiful for me.
It’s not just an action, writing. It’s a way of life. It’s a way of thinking. It’s a way of living, a philosophy, a religion. I can’t go through the day without seeing words that hover around the clouds in the sky or the pebbles in the grass, words that are just waiting to be caught by the right person and put onto paper.
Writing doesn’t just mean putting an impossible daydream onto paper. It’s a way of letting out the truth of all my desires. I can expel every lie I ever spoke out loud onto this paper and somehow it makes the air a little easier to breath. With writing, I can push and pull my plans and my dilemmas until things suddenly make sense. I can create a world, that I fully understand and that I control and now suddenly, all the stress I face every day when I get out of bed is lifted and I have complete and utter freedom.
Bravery is now my middle name. It’s okay for me to kill my greatest foe. I can smother a boy with all my love. I can curse. I can scream. I can save the world. I can destroy the world. And then when I’ve done all the damage or all the good I can squeeze out of my pencil, I can choose to show this to my friends, families, enemies, or I can hide it away under my bed. But either way, I’m proud to put my name to every word.