I was born with a gift:the ability to construct whole cities with nothing more than a ballpoint, a couple of nouns,an adjective or two,and a piece of paper. The ability to set the words I write to music and suddenly, it is a song with a melody and a harmony and lyrics that’ll maybe change your life. The ability to meet somebody new( pure and untouched) and change everything about them, the way they look,walk,talk,sing,think,their entire demeanor, with the drop of a verb,the inclusion of an adjective. The natural talent of knowing how to change the mood and tone of a scene with something like a simile, the subtle insertion of sarcasm, a metaphor,a fairground gypsy waiting to confuse you, but most definitely the inclusion of irony. I can make a person smile with a single sentence.
   

By the same token,I was born with a curse. The power to kill and get away with it, in a single paragraph,sometimes even a single word. The power to destruct with a machine gun of cruel statements and run on sentences. I can maim with a metaphor, abuse with an adjective,hurt with a hyperbole,and silence with sarcasm. It’s a constant battle,writing, to keep the appropriate mood and tone because sometimes, the wrong phrase from the right person can send a knife flying through the air or a bullet through an innocent person’s chest. Sometimes, it affects those that aren’t just the spawn of the mind of a creative teenager who can’t sleep.
     

Such is the power of the writer. The power to make people believe what you say,no matter how true or false it actually is. The power to control real,actual flesh and blood people,and the two dimensional black and white carbon copies that we all love so dearly.
 

I am no Stephen King; nor am I any Ayn Rand, Robert Cormier, or Elton John, but I am like them because we all possess the same gift and we have all asked ourselves the same question; what will I do with this gift today?