Secret Dream

The earliest memory of enjoying writing was in grade 5, when I would type down random essays about petty concerns, and they were not even for school. Keeping a blog, a secret folder of stories in the hard drive and a journal kind of helped me grow in writing. I admit that I may be lacking in the reading department, which I am trying to make-up for now. It's true that the more you practice to write and the more you read, the better you get at setting up the flow of your narratives, the more you can concretize situations and smoothen the exchange of lines in characters' conversations.

I want to tell you a secret, but you might have to promise to sush. My secret dream is to become a writer, an author (for more glamour)-- to pen stories, whether real or unreal. Of course, part of the perks of the secret dream is to tour Europe on book signing tea parties, but it might still be too early to think about that.

When I sleep, I dream of places very nice to write about. Then, I am not guarded. I am not limited to a world where gravity would not allow tables to float or geckos to fly. Emotions are real inside dreams. The characters inside your head don't censor what you think they feel. People in your dreams don't give fake smiles. If they think your yellow green hair color looks funny on you, they say it bluntly straight to your face. In dreams, things are at their purest. I'm a fan of Freud, I believe in the subconscious.

I dream to write stories of people at their purest, sincerest form. I think that is what makes a literary piece memorable. But it's so difficult! I tend to dismiss silly thoughts thinking how readers could be judgmental.

I'm literally having cold feet right now. The in-betweens of my toes are probably as cold as the magnets on the refrigerator.

Where on earth can you find encouragement to write away?