Hannah Eloise

Heart pounding, I deeply inhale and exhale in an attempt to slow down the fierce adrenaline coursing through my veins. My stomach clenches in a knot as I, against my will, remove my hand covering the last line of the page.

This is who I am as a reader; a passionate one, at that. The prospect of opening up a plethora of new worlds and opportunities, only reachable via a momentous flick of the eye down a worded page, has always fascinated me. I prefer the term stories to books, because each is an expression of someone's dreams and emotions, mishaps and victories. Genres fail to pertain to me; all that I request is a perspective in which I can become lost. Reading kindles the hearth of my soul, and I cannot imagine life without it.

I am the type of writer whose pencil outlasts its eraser. My eyes have a stubborn tendency to drift to what I have written before I have even completed three sentences. The perfect metaphor holds the key to bring all the floating puzzle pieces in a reader's mind together, and that is what I strive for when my pencil and paper collide. Occasionally, I enjoy originating poetry, but the branch of writing I have fallen for is prose. A favorite aspect of mine is interweaving voice throughout the core of the shape that my writing demands. As Elmore Leonard blatantly states, "If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it." The desire of my heart is to pen with emotion, vibrancy and life. I have learned that, in order to achieve that dream, avid reading is a necessity.

The brilliant scientist, Albert Einstein, describes creative thinking in this way: "I have no exceptional talents, other than a passionate curiosity." I have always been a ponderer. On a rainy day, with no activity other than brain waves, I would be content with the satisfaction of simply thinking. Contradictively, the place that I find my mind is most open is where I can be closed off to the world and alone in my thoughts. It comes naturally for me to quietly retreat inside my turtle shell at the gym, the beach, in the shower, or the car. Of course, there are sudden moments when an idea of curiosity will shout so loudly inside my head that I cannot help but blurt it out to no one in particular but myself. However, I have noticed that the deepest revelations will speak to me when I least expect it. I make a point to slow down on a regular basis to smell the roses and not only ask, "How are they grown?", but rather, "Why do they bloom?"