Writing is one of the most therapeutic things that I have ever done for myself over the last few weeks. When I ask people if they enjoy writing, I usually get a scowl or glare from those individuals. I guess no one really wants to “enjoy” writing, but why not?

Writing gave us books. Writing gave us this magical thing called our language and how we manipulate the letters to create new words. We have this audacity to think that “writing stinks” or that writing is “annoying.” But we do not realize how much it molds us into the humans that we are today.

In elementary school, we learn how to write our names and pronounce them with pride and other peoples’ names. I remember I loved spelling my name and every name I came to learn. It was one of the things that made me feel connected to everyone.

I did not realize how much I loved our language until I started reading and I just kept reading and reading. When I followed into first grade, I was already into chapter books while others were reading their picture books with barely any words. I just fell in love.

Then, I thought to myself, “I love reading so much. Why not write?” My book reports were only supposed to be about half a page or so whenever I wrote. I always went above and beyond the limit. I still do to this day (sorry, college professors!). It is amusing how much I can go on and on.

I remember sitting downstairs in my grandparent's basement in that leather chair I had to swivel in and turning on the decrepit computer. It was definitely older but I utilized it most of the time. If we were not going on adventures, I took the time to sit and write stories about liars and diseases. My parents were so proud of my writing and I cringe to this day about it.

However, I didn’t stop there.

Middle school approaches and I just would sit and write until the break of dawn. Since I was not allowed to turn lights on, I would type on my little iPod when I should have been sleeping (sorry, Mom and Dad!). I wrote about werewolves and intense thrillers about my characters. I even communicated with others in order to write stories. I fell in love with it.

I wrote one of my longest stories in high school. It is hidden on a thumb drive in the confines of this house. I have no idea where it is and that will drive me insane.

However, I kept writing and I always was complimented on my writing style. I was very forward and blunt, even in my essays instead of dancing the line of the subject. I learned a lot of my writing skills from one of my favorite teachers, Mr. Hancock. He helped me hone my abilities and I still listen to his tips in my head when I write.

Now, we are onto college. I sometimes regret not going into English as my major because I have such a passion for writing. However, as I focused on all of my other studies, my writing was thrown to the side until my sophomore year of college.

I started writing again and I even joined a class about creative writing. I wrote a 20-page story for an assignment and fell in love again. I wrote letters to people, rants about anything, and love poems whenever I had the chance.

I still don’t realize how much writing has impacted my life and as I write for Odyssey it will hopefully help me write that novel one day. I have such a passion for it and I never want to give it up.

So, if you ask me, I believe writing is so magical and therapeutic. Who wouldn’t want to write? I miss writing against the grainy notebook paper but I still continue to write whether it is on my phone or on my laptop. This passion will never evade me and I have myself to thank for it.