Writing is part of my every day life. If I do not write daily, I feel as though my mood just spirals down like a steep staircase. When I pick up my pen, my hand becomes complete and I almost feel as though they have a love affair. I even have a favorite type of pen and I do not like to write if I do not have that wonderful Jetstream 10 uni pen. I love to write in my bed with all my comfy pillows standing against the wall supporting me, the lights dim, the windows open so I can see the stars shining, and music playing. I believe that the best writing comes from when you are the most comfortable. I cannot write in the morning, because I am a night owl. I cannot write at my desk, because it then starts feeling like work. You need to let yourself feel that you are in your home spot. The place that you are yourself, because only then can you write. Writing should be a part of you and come from the true you.
When my dad was murdered in 2002, my mom told my sister, Anna, and I that we should keep a journal to him and write to him when something happened that we wanted to tell him about. We may not be able to talk to him in person, but we could talk to him in writing. So, she took Anna and me to the store and we were allowed to pick any journal that we wanted no matter the price of the journal. So, I grabbed this red and pink journal with a heart on it and clutched it to me. That night I laid in my bed and picked up a pen and started to write. I told him how much I missed him and how much I wanted to see him. The next night I would tell him how angry I was because he was taken from me and we had been begging him to quit the job that led to his murder. Months went by of me writing to him each night and always in the same place and always the same pen and journal. I grew to love the idea of having this chance to better myself in my writing abilities and be able to talk to him – making the jumbled, weird thoughts in my head go unto dead tree parts in such a beautiful way.
My sister seemed to love the idea of writing as well. She wrote so many interesting things and would read them to me when she was done. I thought this would be something that I could do and something in which we both could be good. Anna went on to get a poem she wrote published in a teen magazine. That just fueled the fire inside me and made me want to do better and better at my writing. Later, I found out that my father wrote a book on sharks. (If only we could find it somewhere in our house.) I figured that writing was just in our blood.
Now, I am studying Creative Writing and Professional Writing, and could not be happier. I started in the Journalism program at Ball State and found that it was not for me, because I was more of a detailed writer and hated the idea of making short unbiased pieces. That was just not how I wrote. So, I took a creative writing class and I never once looked at the clock waiting for the time to tick faster and faster. I was smiling the entire time and almost felt like I was in my home spot. This was where I belonged.