I wrote a lot of poems in a daily planner that my aunt, while she worked for Pepsi, would get a supply of and give away to my mother and I for school and work, and I’d write away about random things, mostly nature. I’d shown a few poems to english teachers, and they liked what they saw and told me to keep up the good work, as well as do their assignments.
Sometime around my freshman year of high school, I stopped writing poetry, but I graduated to short stories out of boredom. I’d formulate a story and write it out, cramping up my poor hands from (possibly) hours of writing, since I’d’ lose track of time. I still formulate stories, but I’ve become more and more lazy in writing them down while they’re still fresh in my mind, and I’m trying to change that.
The story I wrote last night (or at least part of it), Sleeping On Trains, was something that I’ve had in mind for a few days, and I was severely bored with nothing better to do. I’m glad I wrote it down, but then I experienced what many writers do when they’ve poured their heart and soul into a story or writing in general: EXHAUSTED. I’m glad I did it anyway, or it would’ve died a horrible death, like many other stories I’ve imagined.
I love writing, and I hope to make something of my writing in the future, but for now, it’s fan fiction and short stories that may never see any kind of profit. There’s also blogging, for I have PLENTY to say and, luckily, an audience ready to listen.