I am a writer
There is something so irresistible about this wholesome art, that it makes my heart soar. As my fingers move over the typewriter-keys, the commotion of their rapid tap-tap consumes every fiber of my body, as I watch my visions come to life in the words proliferated onto the seemingly endless world... known as my story.
In my writings, I sail to a world undiscovered, a land of enchantment and discovery. I wonder how I got there and where I am. At first, I am scared to stray too far from the shore, unaware of what dangers and adventures lie beyond the sandy beaches of my dreams. Yet, just as soon as fear has consumed me, it leaves, and the urge to explore the hidden features of this strange new land take me on a journey into the unknown.
Upon my exploration into this uncharted territory, I find an enchanted forest with trees as tall as the sky, flowers as big as the moon and tiny characters just waiting to be named. Their culture and race is unfamiliar to me, they have yet to be given an identity in which they can be categorized. They are gray and black, their personality as dry as sandpaper and their features as bland as unseasoned rice.
Sitting on a stump peculiarly carved into a comfortable chair, I think about what to do with these characters, they are blank slates just waiting to be given life. I want to do them justice, to make them believable, lovable and independent. I worry, for if they are not named well, and if they are not described well, how will they speak to those who enter this world of mine? Will I dutifully described them to the best of my ability so that my readers will recognize them? And if they cannot, then my quest would have been in vain. I will have failed. But, if I name them well, and give them a story, then perhaps my readers will enter in and feel at home, and my world will become their world and we will both have gained.
As I take up my pen and paper, I become the ringmaster: making sure the acts of my story attract an eager audience. Pecking on the typewriter keys and listening to their melancholy rhythm, I become the cook: slaving away in the kitchen of my overactive imagination, creating new and delicious dishes that I have fabricated from the ingredients stored in the deep cellar of my heart and soul. Upon traveling my mind, I become a carpenter and a magician: dreaming something into being where nothing has ever existed before and building the foundation of my story from the bricks and mortar of my imagination.
I am a dreamer, a hopeless romantic, and an aspiring author. I arm myself against the desperate times that try a writer's soul by praying and reading books that spark my imagination and gets my creativity soaring. By writing, I have discovered a new person, someone who really has always been there, but never fully realized. Just by looking inside and exploring the depths of my soul, I have found her—the writer in me. That's who I am; she's what I've become. I am that person who is endlessly consumed in the thoughts, ideas and the creation of words. I am a free thinker. I am a writer.