It’s been a while since I last wrote a post and that means that I have a lot to catch you up on. Well, kind of. I’m now over half-way through my first semester of college (I survived my first mid-terms!). I’m slowly making new friends and I’ve been pretty social despite being introverted. However, I am still socially awkward but people seem to be okay with my quirks. Overall, I’m not doing too bad from a social stance.

Academically, I am also doing well. I’m not procrastinating (though I still have a hard time starting projects) and I am comprehending everything I’ve been taught so that is awesome! I’m taking very interesting classes such as a Poetry Workshop and a class about puppets. As a result, I have been writing a lot of poetry, some of which I will share with you as the blog progresses! However, I have also discovered a love for puppetry that I’m looking forward to exploring.

Besides writing the poems for the poetry workshop, I haven’t had a lot of time for recreational writing. However, I have begun editing my third…fourth draft of my book The Factory. I am only into the second chapter but it already sounds more like a novel that someone would actually want to read! Of course, editing is going to take a while but I’m another step closer to the publication process and sharing my ideas with the world (if I’m lucky).

I hope that you are all healthy and happy! I’m going to leave you with one of my favorite poems I wrote for my class so far:

Mother

I was born from

death and dust;

From spun particles

and faded lights.

I was created from

Time and pressure;

From lava

And collisions.

I had no name-

I had no voice-

But I was fierce-

And I was free.

I was a home

Before the meteors.

I was a home

For your ancestors.

They gave me names:

Gaea, Danu, Terra-

But you chose Earth

And so I am.

I let you drink

From my rivers.

I gave you food

From my soil.

In return, You polluted

My waters

And razed

My soil.

I have seen you rise

And I have seen you fall.

You have killed,

But I still am proud.

You have forgotten me.

You are killing me.

I cannot flee,

Yet I still care.

Hear me!

See me!

Then leave me!

I still have a fire inside!

I am still moving,

Changing.

But you have forgotten-

And so I will close my eyes,

When you take your final breath.

Lie on the ground,

There will be nothing left.

For a while, I’ve had one of the worst cases of writer’s block I’ve ever experienced. At least, it felt like one of the worst blocks…my anxiety and excitement for college to start probably has something to do with it. Every time I sat down to write, my mind would go blank. There were also the times when I would force myself to push on with the story and this blog but I felt that everything I wrote suffered. I believe that I write my best when I am inspired so I should have known that I wasn’t going to get anywhere. Even when I had the urge to write, my story dragged onward, my ideas coming in short spurts. Last week, I was finally able to complete the first draft.

Finishing the first draft always feels weird (this is only the second first draft I’ve finished for a book and, as a result, this might be subject to change in the future). It seems like I’ve suddenly let go of something…like something has been lifted off of me. I feel a little out of place. I was engulfed in the world I had created for such a long time that it feels strange not to be thinking about it all the time.

Then I look at my story and the first thing that pops into mind is, “What the hell was I thinking?” The draft is good…except for all of the scenes I need to rewrite…and the need to add or subtract different lines whilst adding emotion or taking emotion away…and all of the other mistakes that I have to fix. The draft just gets uglier and uglier the longer I look at it! I feel as if I’m dismantling and sewing on random limbs of some sort of creature, attempting to make something that resembles a living thing that I don’t know the name of.

After the shock of what I need to repair sets in, I begin to have a sense of pride. I created a world that no one can take from me! I fabricated my characters…and I understand them more than anyone else could (kind of like how your parents/friends/or others who know you well can understand you because they’ve known you for a long time).

Next, comes a sensation of overwhelming thoughts. These thoughts keep me from editing the draft but I don’t have much time for it anyway. I’ve been packing up my room and buying what I think I’m going to need for college. I’ve been imagining what my first day is going to be like (though I know that it will be far from anything I imagine…it will be better!). I have had both nervous and excited energy and, as a result, I can’t stay still! I think the only reason I was able to sit and write this today is the fact that I had tired myself from moving possessions around in my room.

I don’t know when I will next write a post (I might not have time next week since I’ll be moving into my dorm) but, I know that I will soon have some fun adventures to share on my quest to become a fantastic author!

This week there has been a lot weighing on my mind. Ever since graduating from high school, thoughts of college have been occupying my time. However, this week is the first time I came up with a story idea that involved college students. This might not seem like much when you think about the average life span of a person and the events that happen to them. The thing is, it is a major development for me.

Throughout my life my stories usually depicted characters my age or older but none ever went on to higher education. I never saw myself as a college student…only because I thought it would be a thousand years before I’d be in college (I had a completely different concept of time). I couldn’t even imagine myself in high school!

Anyway, one of the first stories I wrote was “Sunflower’s Adventures”. The protagonist was five like I had been at the time. However, she was a fairy, so age was very different for her, which was evident when I had her get married in the sequel. I think I even had her have kids in the third story! She would have been 7 then, though I believed that she was an adult in fairy years.

After that I worked on a story called “Animal Riders”. Looking back on it, it was probably one of the most peculiar series I ever thought up. The main character, Lena, was 10 years old and she had Juvenile Arthritis. She was a superhero with a lion sidekick named Kumar. The series was supposed to go on for at least ten more novels with new characters to add to the old ones. However, I never made it past the second book so Lena ended up being 11 or 12 by the end of it.

When I was about 12 or 13, I created my first protagonist who was 16 years old. The novel was called “Dragon Slayer” and featured a fierce female character named Susan. She had seen many tragedies and devoted her time to finding and killing the creature that had caused them. The book ended up being a part of a trilogy in which she, and the other characters, got married and had children as new threats arose. However, none of them went to college.

All of my imaginings after that had teenage protagonists in whatever setting I put them in. It seemed that 16 was a good age for me to write about. However, I eventually wrote about a character that was in his twenties but he was a supporting character while the main character was 16. The story I’ve been working on for this past year is in the point of view of a teenage guy who is…guess what…16!

Yesterday, though, I came up with a story idea that involves a girl who is 18 and in college. It is set in a world where people who have super human abilities are privileged and everyone else wants to be like them. The protagonist doesn’t have superpowers so she has to work furiously in order to have the life she wants.

Nowadays, as my life is facing many changes, it makes sense that my stories would be evolving with me. However, it is still strange to me. It’s funny how every little detail can become very significant when you put it into words…and the things that you didn’t think were so important become what makes your story, your story.