When we are young children, creativity comes to us easily. It’s as if God (whether or not you believe in one is fine) had planted something within us that progresses and grows to the point that we should and need to share it with the world. My passion for writing started to grow in a small English classroom back when I was in the fifth grade. My teacher had assigned us to write a poem on any type of season we chose; I decided to go with summer. I was quieter and much more withdrawn back then than I am now, so speaking through words on loose-leaf paper put me more at ease than them coming through my own mouth (which sometimes, I still need to work on :P) I think that was probably the moment I realized that writing led me to being able to express myself, but just not in those exact words. Back then I wasn’t able to really articulate the feeling of it; I guess that was a sign that I loved to write. Sometimes one cannot always make sense of why they love… all they know is that they love.
Poems and short stories were my “specialties” for awhile. English became my favorite subject because of the artistic aspect of it; I like to expand my vocabulary and use descriptive, figurative language when writing. Reading books, which I am starting to do more often again, helped me be able to do that because they were inspiration. When I was 13 and in the 8th grade, I was assigned to make a little poetry book, which I titled Book of Floetry because I wanted them to be read like spoken word and rap. When I was a High school freshman, I met this nice African-American Black Studies teacher who was organizing a Black History Month event. She asked me if I was interested, and although I was reluctant at first, I decided “Oh what the Hell. I’ll do it.” A few days later after writing my poem, I performed it in front of her upperclassmen students who were also participating in the event inside of the classroom. I was nervous and unsure of how things were going to turn out because I am not much of an orator. However, once I was done reciting it, the sounds of hand-clapping and finger-snapping as well as bobbing heads and looks of approval, I became more calm and confident. Something that still makes me laugh is how on the actual day of the performance, I caught everybody’s attention just by saying “BLACK history.” The strength and seriousness of my tone echoed into the microphone throughout the auditorium and they then became almost silent. Every time I was done reciting it for each period, those same sounds of hand-clapping and finger-snapping arose. I felt proud and began to know my worth as some sort of a spoken word artist.
From time to time I would try to experiment with writing stories and poems, which I end up not continuing because I have a common illness that reoccurs. That very well known illness is called WRITER’S BLOCK. I loathe it with a passion. Those of you who are also going through it will agree wholeheartedly with what I’m saying. I need to tap back into my “creative intellect”, as worded on someone’s podcast that I listen to, instead of letting myself continue to suffer a creative drought. My juices are supposed to flow naturally instead of me suppressing them. Too many people are either using their creativity for ill intentions or just don’t bother using it at all. One of my goals is to publish a book before I hit 30. On August 31, I will officially turn 17 years old (yes I am quite a youngin lol), so I have some time left. But for the rest of my life, I want to be doing, loving, and appreciating my passion of writing… I dunno when I’ll exactly go back to committing to it, but it better be pretty damn soon. Thank you for reading.
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