My Experience Of Writing

854 Words4 Pages
I can’t say in black and white if I like writing, however, I enjoy connecting with people through art. My favorite medium is storytelling. Since I love to read, I assumed that must mean I love to write. Through the years, I have begun to think maybe I’m just a consumer. How do I turn intentions into reality? Why am I interested in something that I cannot create? Does every writer experience this or am I just uncreative? These questions turn in my mind, even now, I am surprising myself that I can write this. Hopefully, as I type my conflicting story with writing, by the end, I will be able to answer some of these questions. As an impressionable kid, I would draw inspiration from anybody who was different. Especially my teenage cousin, Jade. She made reading, among other things, like lime green nail polish, the most impressive thing to do. She opened my mind to this world of reading, through an angsty teenager view. As I evolved and grew up, I discovered that books were something I actually resonated with, I was no longer into reading the same YA books Jade did. Eventually, walking through the library double doors, sinking into a bean bag, and the smell of dusty paper felt equal to home. Not that I went there often, I only felt cozy and in place since I knew there were stories there for me to be a part of. The otherness I experienced was not this dramatic, still, connecting with strangers through words on a page made me feel indifferent. The stories that authors wrote
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