The History of my Writing
(This journal entry was written by hand on 4/29/06 from a prompt found in the book ‘Journey Notes’)
I began to write poetry when I was about 9 or 10. I liked the idea that I could create a piece of art that was exclusively mine, that no one else in the world would ever think of to create, because they did not have my same mind, or past experiences, or distinct, unique way of looking at the world. I felt I had discovered something important- and fun. It was fun to come up with new ideas for poems, using starter or prompt exercises to try to coax ideas and word flows from my brain, trying to find words that rhyme and images that shone brilliant and true. It was effortless.
I would hear the poem forming in my brain and I’d simply go and write it down. I didn’t want anybody’s help. I wanted to complete each poem on my own right from the beginning. The idea that it was unique to me and me alone had the most appeal for me. It was my special little gift, a talent I was blessed with by God. And I loved it.
As I got into high school I still wrote poetry only- and I kept sporadic journals. Mostly, propelled by boredom and a rich imagination, I would write out my fantasies-sometimes in story form. Or I’d write out my longings for my high school crush in poetry form. Feeling misunderstood and lonely, frustrated and hormone-driven, I poured my heart into those daily poems I wrote during English class.
Isolated from all my classmates, without any friends for a while, I’d just ignore everyone and continue living in my own little world. And I enjoyed the anonymity, the mystery of not being known and the fact that people wondered who I really was. It was nice in one sense, but totally horrible in another.
I worked on and edited those first draft poems until they were perfect, and I’d save the finished poems in a pretty journal that just had that one purpose. I was proud of it and read it over often. I was really in touch with myself, with who I was and everything I was feeling. I never held back. I wrote everything stirring in my heart. I wrote some poetry in college but not as much as in high school. It became much less frequent though I still did write. And I had a small, bight orange diary that I would bring to school every day and write in before my classes began. I really loved that journal and don’t even remember now if I used it all up.
I remember starting a short story in art history class one day but never finishing it, even though I had outlined the rest of the plot and knew how I wanted the story to end. I just thought it was stupid, and too fantastical to be considered a real short story. It was a metaphorical story about a heartbreak I had recently suffered and was trying to get over. That was my one attempt at writing a short story. I never tried another one (aside from some short scary stories I wrote as a child). I forgot about another short story I had attempted in high school. It was called “Troy’s Descent” and it was about a vampire named Troy trying to seduce a human woman and turn her into a vampire so she would stay with him forever.
I played this little movie in my mind about these characters, Troy and Cynthia, and even made a sketch drawing of them. It was only about 3 pages long, and I think I meant for it to continue, to be a longer story, but I’m not sure if I knew how I wanted it to end. I was always, and actually still am, better at writing than speaking. With speaking and being social, you have to worry about being understood and accepted, not made fun of or dismissed. In writing, (as in solitude) none of those worries and pressures are there. You are just free to be whoever you are.
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