I used to think that I was not a writer, just a reader.
The moment I open a book it is impossible to see me put it down until I finish it. I enjoy the way the book takes me into a whole different realm. One that does not involve the stressful, active, non-stop lifestyle I am living to reach my career goal. Reading almost makes my clock slow down, its gives me time to enjoy one of life’s simple pleasures.
My journey as a reader began from the moment I knew how to read. Frankly, I remember my first book, but I hardly ever remember being able to make a connection between the words. I only knew that I loved pronouncing the words after my mom would when she would read the book to me. The name of the book was “Animals at the Zoo” by Rose Greydanus. I was attracted to all the animals and how the pages contained a little amount of words, easier for me to follow. I would trace all the letters and even colored and outlined the animals. This book taught me to read, make connections with illustrations and words, and use my imagination, but most importantly it taught me how to write.
Today I enjoy reading all types of genres, from mystery and fiction to romance and non-fiction novels. My recent favorites have been Nicholas Sparks, Stephenie Meyer, and E.L James. Unfortunately, the only available time I have now to read is during my vacations. During that time, I have read a couple of series; every time I feel like I have made some sort of connection with the characters and feel sad to finish the series. I like to make vivid accounts in my mind which draws me away from the here and now.
My journey as a writer began when my uncle noticed my passion for reading. He suggested the idea of writing my own book. For a while I brushed the idea away, thinking how I could possibly write a book; I have not attended college yet, much less had a clue of what it meant to be a writer. One vacation break, I decided to give writing a try. I sat down, started the computer, and sat staring at the screen for what felt like hours. Still, nothing came to mind. The next day, the cycle repeated. The following day, I decided to give up, mind you I was a young teenager with little patience when it came to writing. However, as I was watching one of my favorite television shows, Law and Order. I opted to write a story about a girl who went missing; sadly, I vaguely remember the details of my story. Every day from then on I was delighted to add new scenes to my storyline that I thought about the night before I went to bed.
Within the next week school was back in session and I did not have as much time to write in my book or think about new ideas. Therefore, on occasion I would return to writing whenever I had spare time. Slowly I grew distant from completing my book and shocking enough my computer broke down one day and I did not have a copy saved anywhere else. That moment to me was traumatizing. I have never felt so hopeless; all of my hard work was just wiped away from the atmosphere. I felt as if it was a complete waste of my time and energy. That was what writing meant to me. I decided to not waste my time again on writing a book and felt timid and incompetent as a writer. I was a young girl intrigued about the idea of writing and experienced a downfall that no one, nor I, could afterwards see myself as a writer.
Present day, I only write when it is an assignment. When I was in high school, I recall not being very stellar in writing poetry. It was difficult for me to put together beautiful, short phrases that rhymed. I struggled to write creatively. In my senior year, we had to write a research paper, my first one. However, what took me the longest time was not the body of the essay, which took me a day. The hardest process for me was writing the thesis. We spent weeks going over how a thesis should be written, what it entails, how it tells the entirety of the essay in one sentence. I eventually overcame this barrier, which led to the ease of finishing my first seven page paper. My teacher gave me encouragement and reassurance that writing is a continual and growing subject matter.
In college, my professors will have us write a literature review about a novel, or write an essay about several topics on women’s health and social injustices, or about different cultures. In my ethnic women’s studies class I had to write five essays regarding a topic that related to the health and image of women in present day society. At first, I was not looking forward to writing. But, throughout the quarter I received A’s on all of my papers. I was shocked because I did not consider myself a writer, but this professor thought otherwise. This quarter I am taking an English class to fulfill a prerequisite for my graduate school, yet I have a notion that I am going to take much more out of this class as writer other than just completing a prerequisite. I have learned that everyone is a writer, we write in emails, text messages, and personal essays. It is true; I use written language to communicate.
I am both, a flourishing writer and a reader.