As I’ve grown older, my thoughts have grown more mature and therefore darker. The world is not as bright as it once was. There are blotches in the sun, and there are blotches in my writing. It’s impossible to be the same person as I was, and see the world the same way I used to see it. When I was 8, I wrote my first story about finding gold. When I was 14, I wrote my first murder mystery.
My words on pages are signifiers of who I have been and who I am now. Each letter, each consonant, each syllable is a symbol of my own past. Because writing is to me the place where I say things I don’t tell anyone else and where my inner thoughts have free reign, it means everything to me.
When I write, there is no escape from myself. I have to face my thoughts and I have to mold them into fiction. I have to edit constantly to allow myself satisfaction.. Being content with my words and myself is never simple, but it has to be done. Just as there is no perfection in the world around me, there is no perfection in my writing. It simply exists for all that is, and for the power it has. So do I. We go hand in hand, and perhaps that is why I can never abandon writing.
I haven’t stuck to anything else, and nothing else has stuck to me. Without fail, I visit my laptop every day, and therefore visit myself everyday. This is often not easy, but relationships and commitments aren’t supposed to be. They’re just there and are for life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. When I look back at my life, I don’t think of pictures or countless memories. Instead, I see my life through stories I wrote at different points in my life and how they amalgamate to make me who I am today.