There is at least one moment in a writer’s life where they ask themselves, ‘What in the world drove me to be this insane? Why in the world did this happen?’ When they look inside themselves, they all find different answers, just as we all have different colors. No answer is exactly the same.
When I look inside to why I started to write, there is never just one answer. There are tons and they are constantly changing (Why does this always happen to me?).
When I started, I was six years old and I thought that authors were paid a lot of money just by putting words on paper (Good Lord, how wrong I was!), but after my first story, a two-page remake of the fairy tale, The Princess and the Frog, I felt three things: Exhaustion (From only two pages, can you believe it?), Admiration for the people who had actually managed to write novels and Exhilaration.
Exhilaration, like a whole new world was revealed to me (And in a way, one was). It was scary and exciting and I loved it.
I continued writing, slowly learning ‘their, they’re and there’, the different parts of speech and others. I have written three novels, so far (Though, they are not published yet) and when I got the idea for my books, it didn’t leap a me like a comet, sadly.
It was gradual. Every time I read any kind of book, whether it was good or bad, I
wanted, no, craved to be out there, along with the rest of the greats, to be in the Writer’s Hall of Fame. It drove me mad every single day.
But then, one day, it hit me while I was reading Mark of Athena by Rick Riordan (A huge idol in my life). ‘What’s stopping me?’ I thought, ‘There are plenty of authors out there who started young.’ (I started my first book at 11 years-old and finished just before I turned 12).
And as soon as I had that mindset, every single thing became details for a story.
The way my brother ate, my grandmother’s silly, opinionated rants, the feel of the breeze in summer, the way chills ran through my body if I ate ice-cream with my back teeth (My teeth are sensitive to cold things) etc.
It didn’t scare me, I mean, sure it made my head spin with all the sudden ideas, but adrenaline was constantly pumping through my veins and writing became a drug to me. Never had I felt so…free. I could be whatever I wanted and that was the second reason why I chose to write.
But, now, I write for my people. My characters who, all together, make me. Every little detail is a part of me, but they are their own person. When I think of my characters, I think of them as my best friends, not as my puppets to stitch a story together with (Though, there are times where I must act like that).
I write for my people, my best friends. I write for them, I live for them.