When I decided to begin writing for Odyssey about a week ago, I was concerned that I would have absolutely nothing to write about. I didn't think any of my interests were important enough to talk about, nor did I think they were relevant to most people. Then it hit me -- the reason I joined Odyssey in the first place -- I love to write. It’s something that may seem like a no-brainer. Of course the person writing this article likes to write, otherwise, why would she be writing it? Writing is one of the few interests I have had in my life that has grown stronger and stronger since my youth.
I was always the storyteller. As the oldest child in my family, I did most of the talking for a while, and part of that was telling stories. At the age of four, I asked my grandmother if she could be my personal secretary. I would dictate my stories to my grandma, and she would write them down in a language in which I was completely illiterate…English. I would marvel at my grandmother’s penmanship, thinking, “Someday, I can write my stories down by myself. I can’t wait.” I began writing by the time I was in first grade. It’s remarkable how a child’s mind absorbs information. One year I was learning my alphabet, and the next I was writing short essays. Most of my early stories were incredibly basic as you can imagine, but they were still a start, fueling a lifelong passion. I continued my story writing through elementary school, with each year further improving my writing. In a seemingly overnight transformation, I was suddenly a young adolescent in middle school. Most of us wish we could forget our middle school years, those two or three years of our lives that we acted like complete jackasses. However, my young adolescent-self saw to it that I would not forget a single detail, writing pages upon pages of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences in journals. There have been many times when I thought about burning those journals, but they served an important purpose for me during my middle school years. I felt that my journals were the only real friends I had. Whether this was true or not remains to be seen, but this is what I thought. No one could ever know me like my journals did. No one could understand what I was going through. My journal couldn’t judge me. I could be my true self. I did not have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t-someone who was current, extraverted, laid back, not a total nerd. It was not until eighth grade that I felt that I had made some real friends of my own. My point is, middle school was the first time that writing was therapeutic for me. Writing helped me get through a dark time in my life, when nothing seemed to go my way.
Writing continues to help me in countless ways. I managed to write my way through high school, into honor societies, into college, and into sanity. I am currently writing my way through college, and helping others do the same at the Bloomsburg University Writing Center. In the future, I’m going to share my stories and other writings with all of you lovely people on the internet.
To anyone who underestimates the power of writing: don’t. Writing makes a difference. Standardized testing may say that it doesn’t, but you must believe that writing is more powerful than you can imagine. Writing changed my life, and it could very well change yours. Your writings can change others’ lives as well, even if you don’t believe you are the best writer, even if you think others will not be able to relate to your writings. There will always be someone who your writings can touch. Write because you can. Write because not everyone has the luxury of the freedom to express ideas. Keep that in mind the next time you complain about a writing assignment. Writing changes lives. Change your life. Sharpen your pencils, and write on!
