My Voyage to Words.

My journey though finding out what words mean to me.

            Throughout my existence I have found there are few things a person can directly depend on. People are ever-changing, moments are fleeting and activities soon grow dull. I, however, have embraced an avocation that I can depend on and hold in my hands for as long as I feel fit. Sometimes this activity is difficult and strenuous, but on other occasions I have the need for it, a desire that gnaws at me until I fulfill the impulse. This venture is writing, and an affective writer spends an avid amount of time being a reader. It’s through reading and writing that I became the person I am today.

            At the age of, roughly, thirteen I embarked on the journey of reading The Book Thief, a novel by Markus Zusak. I had always loved to read but my passion was just starting to ignite at this time and The Book Thief served as the match to light the flame. The story itself was immensely moving, but above it all I found an ability to relate to this book, to the little girl who was starved and hungry for words, who found solace in their mystery and beauty. A quote that always comes to mind when I think of The Book Thief is short, simple but influential all the same, “I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.” The life of a reader and writer is so easily encompassed by this statement.

            I have loved words for as long as I can recall. When I was very young my brother and I would assemble libraries in our living room. We’d haul all of our books down the stairs and drop them in piles. Dr.Seuss, Disney Little Golden Books, Encyclopedias, Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes, the list goes on. Next, we’d set them up according to size. Rows of books lined the walls and my Mother would eye us nervously, knowing that we wouldn’t want to take them all back upstairs again. But mixed in with that look of nervousness there was a hint of pride in her eyes.

            Years went by and I read everything I could. I marveled at my Father’s love for reading and wanted to harvest mine like he did his. I filled my mind with stories of King Arthur and Clue mystery books. The Book Mobile was anticipated for and my parents were broke during the Book Fair. I wanted every book I could get my hands on, I wanted to ingest them and never let them go.

            In the seventh grade a different part of me opened up. I joined the Power of the Pen team for a reason unknown to me. I always knew that I enjoyed to write, reports were never a chore to me like they were to other children and I grew up writing meaningless fantasies. But, it wasn’t until I joined the Power of the Pen team that I realized my real passion for it. I could sit and write for hours and feel completely content. I was in my element and I adored it. Throughout my seventh and eighth grade years I participated on the team and didn’t do half bad, either. I was no longer just the consumer of words but the creator of them as well.

            It isn’t always a great ride, though. When I’m upset or angry I write as a release, and my lovely passion turns darker. I use what makes me happy to dispense negative feelings from within myself. But, like many others, I’ve encountered the most painful experience a writer can feel: Writer’s block. It seems to others that writer's block isn’t anything to stress over, but to a writer it is a treacherous time. You fight with the idea of losing the ability to write, you fight with the lack of ability to fulfill your natural desire to create. It’s as if someone built a never-ending wall between you and the thing you need and love the most, something that you hate the idea of existing without. You have this helpless feeling of defeat, but you have to keep chipping away at that wall. Eventually you’ll be reunited with your beloved, but the time spent away is tiring.

            Words themselves can be weapons or gifts. When someone tells you what you want to hear it’s one of the most wonderful feelings you can experience, like hearing a beautiful song for the first time. However, if you’re being told something you don’t want to hear, it breaks your heart. It’s hard to accept the words we don’t want to be told. Humans, being separated from other animals due to their ability speak; have a genuine love-hate relationship with words. They have the ability to make us smile or laugh, scream or cry. It’s the way a person uses them that makes the difference.

            Since I discovered my love for words I have planned by entire life to include them in it. My career aspirations have moved in the direction of teaching others to love words as I love them myself. My ultimate goal is to become an author and weave stories for other people to appreciate like I appreciate the stories of my muses. I know my life with words will have its ups and downs, its trials and rewards, but I can’t imagine life any other way.  “I have hated words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.” I will continue to hate, to love, and to hope. 

Author's Note

I was unsure about what to tag the "type" as, I guess I would more consider this an essay type-thing rather than a story. I don't know.

Reviews

[Charles]

Your essay really resonated with me. I know about how challenging writing can be. Ideas float in the mind and I watch them like they were butterflies. Many times I'm without the net that would bring the words my hand and through my pen. But I still love to watch them and I hope i never tire of that.

What you may what is to post on the Blog section. It'll let you freeform your thoughts on topics without the formality of a work of art.

[Closedown]

Wow, a real insight into your relationship with the words, and The Book Thief. In a tangent note: Why did they do that to Rudy?!