Writing is a form of expression. It’s the only thing I like to do. Write and share stories. I’m not the greatest writer, having been out of the loop for a while. A little “rusty” you could say. I recently just started my own “blog spot”, and trying to excel in the “art of writing”.
At the age of 13, after my Father and Mother’s big custody ordeal , I began to feel a little rebellious. I might have lashed out at this, not realizing it was creating more trouble. Building some pent up feelings. I began to write, which consisted of songs and poems mostly.
My Grandma bought me my first acoustic guitar, and my Grandpa bought me my first electric guitar. So in a lot of that time I taught myself how to play the guitar. With the help of a few other gutarists. I slowly started to seclude myself, and become a little depressed. I guess it started to illuminate, or bloom my writing.
Having a few peer pressures is always on the agenda for a new teen. Emotional or Emo music would stir up feelings that consisted of past molestation and frustration. Getting in trouble and failing grades began to show. Wanting to act out so I could be by myself in I.S.S., instead of in a normal classroom. There I could write and lose myself in the world of words.
I wrote a paper for history class in eighth grade about the medical science of the Civil War, and just didn’t turn it in. It was pretty good work. This was about the same time my Language Arts teacher got real mad, cause he saw some potential in me. I later thought about why he got on to me so much, but I was interested in girls or whatever everybody else was in to.
The notebooks I would use were always my pick of choice. I wrote through the paper like a “bad habit”. Their in these tablets would remain my archive through the years. From the time I was 13 to about 21 There were some writings here and there, when I got married and had a baby, but not very many. All that hard work was in those notebooks.
Having some of the most creative peices I have ever written in there. They would not last through marriage and getting divorced. Getting lost in the midst was, a lot of passion thrown out the window. If I could only find them. It would make my life complete. Those writings were a really big piece of me.
Well, I know one thing, those things I search for endlessly. With my passion Lost but just recently Found, even as I’m writing this. Nobody has to care. If you are a writer, you should care about the art of writing. Carrying on a conversation like their ain’t no tomorrow, and can make something out of nothing, is why I love to write.