You know why I want to write? It all started in my head one day, I don’t know exactly when, but when I had few years under my belt.
Back in my house in Iceland (I lived most of my childhood there, from 1 to 8 years old due to my parents being Missionaries), I often found myself with nothing to do. My brothers were often at their swim practices, or plopped on the couch, their tongues licking their lips while they played the most recent Nintendo 64. Being the youngest, and the only girl, I was often left to my own devices, either watching my brothers playing video games, while in the back of my mind wishing I could play with them, or I would be down in my own little pink room in the basement, playing with Furbies. Most would think that’s a pretty lonely lifestyle, but frankly, it didn’t bother me in the slightest. In fact, I loved it, for one huge reason.
Because I could create stories in my head.
The adventures were fantastic, the people always saved, and always a lot of drama. It all began with a greater, grown-up version of myself who I named Mary. She was the ruler of all the Crystalnians, who were a race of superheroes who lived in a different dimension. Since she was gifted with the greatest powers, Mary would fly through the different dimensions (which basically were different video games I watched, I helped Mario way too many times to count), and save people in a dramatic fashion. It was nothing cheesy, I promise, but oh, I made my heart pound with those stories. I made a whole complex world, complete with the backstory of Mary and her many daughters/sons who could control the different elements. It was a great time, and it took many years to fall out of the habit.
As I began to go through school, and had less me time, and more people time, the fantasies appeared in my mind less and less, but then appeared my journals. I would write every night and doodle underneath the entries. I keep all those notebooks in order to leaf through the pages and reminisce on everything that had been important to me then. Oh how the world had been so cut-and-paste for me. It was simple, get good homework, and Mom would buy me what I wanted.
In high school, my patience for journals decreased, and I found myself in a creative writing class. That was when my dream began its true dawn, painting my skies in the most vibrant colors I had ever seen. I became unable to see myself as anything else but what I wanted to be: a writer.
Now, as a college freshman, as I make my footprints on this life, and the world around it, I strive to become someone I want God to be proud of. I feel as though, this calling, this love has been planted inside me for a reason. Let’s see where it takes me.
Wish me luck.