Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989


The most cataclysmic event in a writer’s career would, without a doubt, be their first piece of art.
If you find a person with these symptoms :
1. Hair loss
2. Random paper-crumbling hand motions
3. A certain tinge of morning java intertwined with their fetidity
4. A beard
Then, congratulations !! You just found yourself a young writer !!
Although this doesn’t necessarily happen with everyone out there, it did occur during my first time – In a quiet, dim lit room with physical locations varying from sitting cross-legged on the bed to standing upside down on my chair trying to concoct that perfect first story which could hopefully catch the imagination of millions around the world. I still remember going berserk after messing up those words which were so intricately strung together by my 16 year old brain. The worst part was when I would somehow forget the stunning plot-twists and sub-plots that were to be woven into the main storyline after hours of self-dialogging. No exaggeration there, I literally spent an entire hour to come up with such an intense, almost electrifying plot-twist which I ended up forgetting right after munching on a twix bar.
*A moment of silence for that pencil which I broke (right after giving up on the pen) at that instant of cognitive dysfuntion.*
Not intending to brag here but the English language was never much of a problem for me. In retrospect, I have been above average at it in school and there used to be times where I would just nonchalantly walk into an English exam, with no preparation whatsoever, and still ace it. Though I knew of my prowess when I was younger, I was a tad too complacent to even care about refining my skills. However, that was only until a good friend of mine (who is now my manager) put a foot down and got my lazy behind off of the ground last summer which led me to undergo the above stated experience.
Against all odds, I actually finished my story, but was too lazy to type it down and send it to her. After reading it again, I’d rather post that on, if it were to exist, that is.
A year passed. On a more personal note, a rather miserable year. Right after the ups and downs, tumbles and tussles, ebbs and flows, I managed to somehow trudge on. Into the 12th grade – my last year of school. With quite a fluctuant start, things slowly fell into place – My favourite topics were being taught, I was officially not a fat kid anymore and English just got better. So much better that there was an exercise which I had to finish after a poetry chapter which involved creating a short story of my own, related to the theme of the poem. With one unaltered stream of consciousness penned down in my book in around twenty minutes, I just finished writing my first short story – An open-ended story, which was , of all things, about a chicken in a farm.
And the review ? Just a single word from my teacher, ‘Excellent’.
So there I was, standing with the book in my hand containing my first official work, for which I had spent an entire week, a year ago. Well played life, well played.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback