What Writing Means To Me

Before I start I wanted to let you all know that there will be 3 posts today, the post that you are currently reading that I should have posted on Friday but didn’t because there was no WiFi, a post that should have gone up yesterday, and finally NaPoWriMo Day 3.

 

Writing. One word, but with so many different.. components.

One might enjoy writing short stories, diary entries, poems, letters, lists. There are so many different types of writing, each with their own goal. For example, someone writing a diary might be writing to express their feelings, or even a recount of their day. Someone else might write lists to become more organized. Enough of what they may and will do, here’s what I think.

I write because it makes me happy. I write because I am good at doing it, (I’m not trying to sound arrogant. God gives each of us different gifts, whether it be dance or cooking spelling or mathematics.) I write because I have something to write about.

When I write, I try to write as truthfully as I can. I try not to write following everyone else, or posting content that is said to get you more views. I just try to be myself, because the other stuff is toxic, if you get what I mean.

When I write I feel like I can lift a weight off my shoulders, I can express my creativity and who I am. The words that you will read very soon are the beginning of a novel that I am writing.

 

One day, Hayley ventured out into the meadow, with two things…her thoughts and a pocket watch.

 

She climbed up a tree, to set up base camp. Little did she know, she’d be fleeing by dawn.

 

As Hayley heard her watch strike midnight, she felt something, a bolt of electricity stremaing down her veins. She looked around, trying to see what caused it, but she saw nothing…. except for a body that laid sprawled out on the daisies, blood streaming out of their heart, and a pocket watch.

 

Image result for arrow This is me.

 

 

 

Until the next post,

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