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How i found my passion for writing

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Writing a story is never, purely, your own creation. It isn't just a simple idea. It's much more that that, you see, writing is stating a simple idea, a simple thought, a seed that is released from your ideas, your thoughts, or your own experiences. Writing is never formed by a single creation, it's formed by several ideas from distant realities, and its also parts of your life that no one has ever known, that comes from the dark pit, known to most as, life.

Does a tree look exactly like its offspring? Does a plant look like the fruit it contains? Does a child ever inherit all the traits and qualities that its parents have? No. It never has and it never will.

Its the same with writing. You plant your idea and you supply it with its necessities and later, it starts growing on its own, supplying itself, and you can't control it. It starts to create itself, it becomes its own supplier. In this you can't force it to grow in your own way. But if somehow you can, it will only dwindle and die, the story will only corrupt itself and you're only left with empty ideas and a blank piece of paper.

So pay close attention as I experience how my sapling has begun to grow, and how it still to this day thrives with brilliant life.


I sat up in the darkness as my alarm was going off, thinking about the strange dream. The events that I tried to recall to my abstract dream, but as I concentrated on it, only images of a classroom, divided with a concrete slab with plexiglass cut into the center, came to mind, in which didn’t even make sense, much less help me recall the rest of my dream. As I was sitting, it occurred to me that my empty room was like my mind, dark and shallow, trying to add in the lost details.

Once I made my bed and dressed in a navy blue pair of jeans, I went on the hunt for my loose t-shirt in my closet. As I was looking, a memory from my dream flashed into my mind.

I remembered walking down a large high school hallway, with a traffic full of people, with someone I didn't even recognize, but it seemed like they were a friend of mine. But as soon as I recalled the event, the image disappeared from my mind, and my conscious was lead back into this reality.

Finally when I discovered the shirt, and coming out of my mountain of clothes, in which I call a closet, alive. I retrieved for the light switch, and switching it on, I had to shield my eyes from the blinding light.

After getting my clothes on through some tough struggles of sucking in my gut, I couldn't ignore the strange sensation from the dream, and the memories, I had. Its not really the not knowing of what happened in the dream that frightened me, but the chill coming down my spine that really started to make my heart throb in my ears.

As I descended the dark stairs leading to the kitchen, I recalled not exactly being myself, as If I were placed into another body, like walking the life of my opposite twin…

Then it came back to me in a flash, the dreams, the sensations, and the dissolved ending.

Then I experienced the flashback, dragging me back to a world unknown and very unusual to me, bringing me back to the brightly lit, divided classroom, feeling once again foreign in an unusual world never before known to mankind...

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