This could be the hundredth time I am re-reading my draft, and with each passing day, I end up with something original that needs to be changed, or I discard the entire paragraph from it.
Right from childhood, I always had a fetish for writing. When I was 10, I penned my first poem, and that’s it. I have been creating stories ever since! I do not know how, but ideas keep falling in my head, and it explodes like a bomb in my mind. My passion grew noticeably stronger as I became older.
Now, being in the last year of my school, my parents (my mom especially) are persuading me to focus on my studies. I am not that bad. Just because I do not get an A-plus doesn’t mean I am mediocre. I believe you cannot explain this concept to my parents. My parents are geniuses, who think their daughter inherits the geniuses from them.
But what can I say? I am an average grade student. Even if I avoid writing, I believe that’s all I will ever be.
When my mom first thought I preferred to pursue a career in writing, she went hysterically crazy. She screamed uncontrollably at me, making sure the entire neighborhood heard it. Well, once in a while, it is embarrassing.
We live in a small place called East Bran in California; the population is comparatively low. Maybe that is what I didn’t like about this place. It was too peaceful-as if nothing ever happens. Everyone has a routine life, and nothing in the world triggers that cycle. As much as steady as it is, I do want to get out of here. Experiencing all possible things around the world is what I like. I want drama; I love drama.
I think I went for it a bit too much because God answered my prayer.