I haven't written anything of purpose in years. Nothing I'm proud of, that is. There's been no prose from my fingers, nothing in type or the ink pens I used to be so fond of. No one has read my work in years. Sharing my work with others, receiving feedback... This is an experience I have long since forgotten.

I used to know this feeling. I used to know what it was like to feel inspired. What it was like to be willing to allow my words to pour onto a page uninhibited, unable to care about the reaction I would get from others. Now, I am afraid of the response of those who will edit this piece. Of those who will read it.

I used to write lavish stories of adventure, mystery, and horror. I was excited to create worlds to live in, minds to inhabit, and quests to follow, even if it was only for a single page. To step into the shoes of another! To give a voice to the people who only existed in my head! To see these characters enjoyed by those who read my work!

... If only. If only that sentiment was shared by those whose opinions mattered the most to my young heart. My teachers believed that my work was too... advanced. Too... scary. Too human. Inappropriate for someone my age, certainly. And so, I was told to write something else. Anything else! Just not that.

So I tried. I tried to inject that same passion into the topics that my peers were writing about. Topics of love! (Even though I can't stand romance!) Topics of fantasy! (But without violence!) Stories with happy endings! (Because no one wants to read a tragedy!)

...

The life was sucked out of me. I could no longer imagine a world filled with life and ready to be explored, but instead felt very much like a person sitting in a chair in front of a blank piece of paper. Suddenly, there were no stories that were begging to be told, no characters that demanded my attention, no mysteries that couldn't be solved without a simple wave of my hand.

So I sacrificed my hobby, my outlet, my source of joy, to save myself. How could I not, with a ban hanging over my head on anything that I was remotely interested in! I moved on, and forgot the bliss of storytelling. Forgot about expressing myself through the written word. I forgot how to express almost anything at all.

And now, today, I'm being encouraged to write again. But... write about what? Do you want romance? I can't give you that. Do you want happy endings? I don't think I can do that either. Do you want fantasy? Horror? Realism?

Truth is, I don't know if I can do that either. Do I even remember how to? Did I ever know? Was I ever truly familiar with the correct way to put words on a page in such a way that others could understand? That others could relate to? That was, above all else, worthwhile?

I don't know.

I'm new here.