I remember sitting at the big desk in my grandparents’ office every Wednesday with a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil that I thought was ridiculously old (though I found out just a short while ago that they were just meant to look old, but were in fact brand new). While my grandpa was at work and my grandma was baking cookies, I would spend hours writing down whatever thoughts crossed my mind. Page after page, I scribbled down stories and poems about everything from the kids at my daycare, to roses and love… well whatever understanding of love I had at the ripe age of three. I had no inhibition regarding what words transcended from my mind, through my hand, onto the paper. What’s more is that I shared everything I wrote without fear of judgement from my family, friends, or teachers. And I always received a positive response. Adults seemed impressed with what I wrote, so I continued to do it.
When I was young, I thought I could do absolutely everything. Not only that, I thought I did everything well. I am now very aware that this is untrue, especially with regards to singing. But anyway, it was this complete confidence budding at such a young age that so strongly influenced my desire to write. As a result of this confidence, writing became a skill that I strived to perfect, both for my personal sake and to continue to impress others.
This absolute freedom and assertiveness continued through middle school when I still had the time to write for fun. Whether it was in one of the five diaries I attempted to keep over the years, or returning to stories that I began when I was in elementary school, I wrote for two primary reasons. As cliche as it seems, I genuinely enjoy translating ideas (whimsical or technical) onto paper. Secondly, I loved, and still love, writing for others. I get excited when I can transform thoughts into an accessible form for more than just myself.
I hope that my reader can feel the passion I have for both language and concept. That when I discover a topic that inspires me, I could repeatedly return to the piece without exhaustion. At the same time, I hope they understand that this enchantment with writing is not a permanently active thing. Sometimes I can go dormant, or more accurately develop writer’s block. Just like anybody else, there are things I don’t care to write about and feel uninspired. It seems that there is an expectation of constant positivity toward writing, yet I strive to emphasize that this is an impossible standard to hold. Just as one can’t expect a professional athlete to perform perfectly in every game or match, one can’t expect a writer to be able to produce an award winning piece each time he or she picks up a pen. In truth, I hope my readers gain a sense of humanity from my writing, not a robotic or unemotional being who happens to somewhat effectively string words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and paragraphs into completed pieces.