Here is a story: while I was studying for exams, my grandma called me up on the phone saying she wanted to read me a story. Not that unusual really, that's quite common with her. I really didn't care to hear it as I was seriously trying to study but I figured I would humor her and so I told her to go on. As she began reading, tears filled up in my eyes, she was reading a story I had written years ago! I didn't stop her, and I let her go to the end. It was amazing how the rawness of the story still got to me even now, especially because I wrote it myself!
My grandma told me I should publish a lot of the stories that I had written into a collection of short stories. I laughed at the idea because of course grandparents will be biased and encourage their grand kids that way.
Well I've spent the day today pouring over all the silly things I ha written over the years and I feel like there is some good stuff in there. The few pieces I put up on publishing sites came back with glowing reviews and years ago I even was published in an online magazine.
My problem is that I haven't written for the sake of me in almost 3 years. Sure, in high school I had all the time in the world and there was nothing that made me happier than to write, but once University hit, writing became more of a chore. It was homework. I got sick of writing papers and essays that I forgot what it was like to write a story that you were passionate about!
Well my 3 year writers block is finally over! Today I finally picked up a pencil and put it to paper and started to write again. It was only a page long and it just described one scene of something that I may never finish. But the good part is that I'm writing again. I can't ever stop writing.
I must write, in words, in music, in life. I must create and portray messages across any way that I can. Anything that is within me begging to be set free needs to leap out of me and into a page, to be shared with readers and listeners alike.
I can't stop. Ever.
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