For as long as I can remember, words have been my solace. When I was a child, I made my parents read me book after book. Once I could read, I began to tear through books like nothing else mattered. Throughout middle school, I could always be found in a corner reading a book. It didn't matter where I went, I would be reading. On the bus, I had a book and a reading light for the dark, early mornings. Spare time to socialize between classes? Reading a book. Softball tournaments—yes, I was still reading a book between games.
It didn't take long before I found the joy of putting my own pen to paper and creating stories. Some were ideas that came to me in a dream, others were adventures I wished I could take myself. I sat in my room, in the yard, at the lunchroom tables, and I wrote. I made myself into characters that had magical powers and epic battles, who saved the world with the wit of their minds and the impact of their words. I planned story upon story, and I wrote each one with a vigor that consumed my whole being.
Eventually, I lost that passion in the wake of new experiences. I joined more clubs in high school than I can even remember, and my time was taken up by ASB, sports teams, yearbook, community service, theater, jobs, and so much more. I left my characters in the back of my mind, and they lived on in the forgotten recesses of my memories. Still, I read, but as time went on I had less and less free time for reading, especially once I got into college. I knew that words would continue to be a big part of my life somehow, and, sure enough, I picked up journalism and writing my sophomore year. I changed my major from criminal justice to multimedia journalism. But still, I felt like something more was still out there.
Turns out, it was my stories.
Something within my heart urged me to pick one back up. I did, not really knowing why; then I started reading it. I started editing the errors, strengthening my sentences, rebuilding my characters. I reached the end of what had been written by myself years before, and I started writing more. The words seemed to flow so easily, and it was as if the characters were speaking to me directly, telling me what they wanted to say and do. The scenes played out in my mind as easily as they did when I was reading books written by a real author. It was incredible.
And so, here I am, writing this piece while taking a short break from writing another chapter in my novel. My ultimate goal: finish it this year and get it published. Though that may not happen, it's making me happy. I'm feeling the joy I felt when I first discovered writing for the first time. I think I'm slowly figuring out who I am meant to be through writing again. Only time will tell, but for now, I'm going to go back to writing my story. Arianna's got a war to win.
