About Me

me, age 4, already slaying

Hello! If you see this you’ve successfully mad wit to the about me section! I just want to take this paragraph to thank you so much for reading my writing and that it means so much that you are even just here 🙂

foreword: this was written as a narrative about my journey with writing. Along with writing I adore music, reading obviously, and Lovejoy :). (Also this was written in 2021 so some things have changed)

The Artist Eye

     I think all artists have a hole in their mind, yet to be filled with confidence. A hole that keeps growing no matter what. All artists have something that fills me with passion and joy, and for me it’s been writing. 

        Very recently I’ve discovered what writing means to me and there’s a few reasons why. For me, passion has always been presented at a young age. Most people I know of have been passionate from the very beginning. That was not the case for me. I personally hated writing, the grammar was so confusing and I was  learning english at the time I moved too. So, despite these conditions I had never felt passionate or drawn to one thing. I’ve always been skipping to the next.

    Falling in love with writing (or at least what I think was love) was a brilliant experience at first. Typing my first story was like creating my own place to escape. I had always loved reading so to think I would be able to give someone that experience has always delighted me. 

     Soon, I met other writers. At first it was fun conversing together but then it opened the hole. I had started to feel it. Insecurity. Indescribably jealous of what someone else’s work was. Instead of appreciating that this work existed, I was despising it. I had always wanted to be praised and do the best of my ability and no one really saw it as a bad thing. But with insecurity comes work. So, I worked turning what I loved into something tiring and annoying, however, that was just part of the experience. 

   However, as I strayed away from writing, I met a friend, a friend who I hope will stay with me for the rest of my life. This friend started complimenting me and they promised it was genuine. So, as cheesy as it is, I went back to my “hobby”.

            I started writing more stories, accepting that there are always people better than me.One time, I had this really particular friend that always found a grammar mistake in my writing. Then, she read my story and she was surprisingly quiet.I was praying to god I didn’t screw up the story, when she handed it to me she said she thought it was a story about how writing had “changed my life for the better” but it had a sad ending and she liked that. 

I still wonder if I’m just being naive or overacting, since I just learnt what a compound predicate was last week. But maybe being naive is not such a bad thing to be.

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