I am no hero. I never was and never will be. I remember… a year ago. Let’s go back further. When I was young I could rely on wit and normal kid stuff to make friends. Then I got older and my friends got new interests. I stayed sober… always. So as the time went by, I became an asocial person. I always was that academic kid, but that wasn’t enough later.
I struggled with the idea of what I really wanted. Then in the middle of grade ten I wasn’t the best in Math or Science any more. I had this idea that that was my life. I was destined to do that. That is life after all. Putting bread on the table. Not writing stories about men that try to create new bread or thinking of new tables. And that tables can turn… that is fiction.
So, after a disappointing term I was quite depressed and alone. I resorted to really writing good essays as I always had liked writing those and frankly, I wasn’t that bad at it. So after I did that and felt great… my essays were marked and I… was second best. Second best? I’m a sore loser. I only pitied my worthless prideful soul for a day, but it stopped in another boring class.
The teacher did some Life Orientation teaching (yes, that’s a subject… but it is worthless) I yawned and looked at my notebook. I thought about my essays for a second. Then about my inspiration. I decided to write a story… there and then. I didn’t think it would be a book just a long essay. I read it to good old Mom and fellow writer and my brother who liked it. I wanted more. I wanted to write. I changed that day. I remember what humility meant. What stories mean to me. I am less bored now and have written 66000 words in my novel. Far from published, but it feels great.
Comment below if you like and tell me, what got you into writing.