E.A.Rose

I started writing when I was 13 years old. At that time, I was writing mostly science-fiction and short stories, in the style of my first literary idol, Rod Serling ("The Twilight Zone"). Apart from his influence, I remember having a really excellent Language Arts teacher in 6th grade, Ms. Miller. She had the class do in-class creative journaling, and afterwards encouraged us to go up in front of the class and read what we wrote. This is when I began writing "Pitch Black" my first fictional short story; and at the insistence of my class- continued to write it, week to week.

There was a time somewhere towards the end of my Middle School years that I was gifted my first typewriter. I loved that machine, it made me feel very classic and mysterious. Although regretfully I was not able to put any real mileage on it before the ribbon broke. Since then, I have been continuously searching local thrift stores and Craigslist for good deals on another typewriter.

Some time after I had began writing, I realized I had a hard time finishing any of the stories I started, because I would either get new ideas or become disinterested. Then I discovered a temporary solution to the problem, which ultimately became my foremost love, poetry. 'Poems were often times short and sweet and very flexible. So, after I had written several poems, I decided I wanted to try to get something published. So, I sent in a poem to a contest on Poetry.com, naive to all scams, I received a letter in the mail saying that my poem was selected to be published but I had to attend some 'writers conference" in California for only $99.99 or something silly. At first I was thrilled, and then when my parents pointed out that it was a scam, and explained to me what that meant, I felt shot down. Feeling very jaded, I vowed not to try to have anything published anymore, (mostly out of spite); and havent since. Its been eight years.

In High School I spent two weeks of every summer at a Fine Arts Program for the Gifted in Fire Arts called Firespark! at Brenau University in Gainsville, GA. Each year I took Poetry and Fiction Writing classes; along with Acting and Photography. The writing classes at Firespark allowed me to investigate and experiment with my creativity and different styles of writing.

My father has always been my biggest fan. He has supported and encouraged me more than anyone else. He has challenged me and included me in his poetic journey, by inviting me to join him and his friends in a poetry reading he used to host called Poetica, and by asking me to write poems for people or special events. I am very grateful for my father and his role in my writing process and journey to becoming a better writer (and hopefully one day, a published writer).

In 2004, my freshman year of College- I attended Frostburg State University in Western MD and decided to major in English, so I enrolled in poetry and fiction writing classes. My poetry teacher, however, was the first person to really criticize my writing, and taught me in a very hard way- that you have to work at the things you love. If you love a poem, you have to build it. I suppose the same is true about relationships. Anyhow, he was very cynical and harsh and not shy about cutting you down if you think your poem is good. I don't remember his name, strangely, but I do remember his wispy black hair and leather motorcycle jackets. (which I later wrote a poem about). I had the strange feeling like he hated me for most of the semester. I was the youngest in a class full of almost-graduating seniors, so perhaps that had something to do with that. Regardless- his philosophy was that through tough love he was turning us into the best poets we could be. I did learn alot from him though, (before that class I was under the assumption that ever poem line had to end in a comma and line breaks were foreign to me).

After that class, I was discouraged and it wouldn't be until a few years later that I realize his criticism didn't mean I was a bad writer and even if it did, so what. And rejection and dejection are all part of the process. I think now, I may be finally growing some tough skin. Its been 4 years since I actively wrote on a regular basis. I am 22 years old now, and thanks to my Columbian friend in my Western Civilizations II class who introduced me to Charles Bukoski and has been bringing me poetry books every week, I have finally rediscovered the fabulous world of words and so here I am. You know what they say right? The sky is the limit, and there are lots of stars along the way.