Writing
January 22, 2016
Over the years, I have written many
adventure stories and short essays, made countless entries to my face book and
blog. My affection of writing stems from reading;
and my passion of reading springs from my innate aspiration of adventure, and endless
love of nature.
My early writings,
received unexpected attention from friends and strangers, but they were “raw”, marginally
acceptable; plain, full of errors and as such received countless attacks from one
reader. I never paid much attention to his insensitive
and cruel remarks, for I know deep down inside he enjoyed reading my stories or
he would not keep analysis them and came up with those remarks. Nonetheless, I did begin to pay more and more
attention to my writing including narrative skill, appropriate grammar, and
organization of storylines. I read more intensively,
when come across some good descriptive words, skillful sentences, I memorize them
and try to apply them on my next writing.
Sometimes, I find myself completely lost in my reading, unaware of my
surrounding and indulge myself to a piece of good adventure story. My
friends begin to think that I am growing odd, eccentric, and even anti-social.
Their reaction reminds
me of a classmate in the 5th grade.
He was a quiet fellow, average student and always sat in a corner with
his head down, totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. One day, his behavior caught our teacher’s
attention. He was asked to stand up and show his hands. What we saw was astonishing, delicate little animal
figures carved out of a piece of chalk were exposed. I don’t remember what punishment he received,
but it did not stop him from carving. He
continued to live intensely in his own world making beautiful figurines. As soon as he had a piece of white chalk in
one hand and a knife in the other, he was happy.
Writing is a
lonely process but it is satisfactory one. It is this strange satisfaction,
this joy of molding words into sentences that gives me the most profound
incentives to writing. It is difficult
to explain and hard for others to understand.
It is similar to the joy my 5th grade classmate had; his
chief delight in life was to crave a figure out of a chalk.
To my friends who
think I am growing odd, all I can say to them is: they have no idea of the fun I am
having!
I may never be able to sell
a story for a penny, but if I have written a sentence that “sings”, I pay
myself a million dollars.
