The Gift of Writing

"Stay faithful to the stories in your head."
-Paula Hawkins

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When I was little, probably about seven or eight, I was in this class for "gifted" kids. We were the smart, quirky, and sarcastic kids that had been tested rigorously to get into this program, and it basically meant that on a weekly basis, we met with a special teacher. It was a type of special education for the above-average.

I was in this class from the time I was seven years old, up until I was about twelve. I had three different teachers, all of which had their different styles. My nana was also one of my teachers, and as much as I enjoyed the Diet Coke she provided me with for lunch everyday, I think I would've been better with an alternative instructor.

On one occasion in this class, my grandmother was absent to go off to some training course, and we had a substitute. Our assignment for the day was to write a short story of some sort, and work on it for the entire class period. To put this into perspective, I was a second grader. The writing I did consisted of spelling tests and the secret journal with boys names scribbled into it under my bed. Writing was almost foreign to me, and that day was the turning point.

Now, when I pen a story, I do just that- pen a story. Without room for pencils and erasing. I'd rather scribble something out, move on, and rewrite or type it later. Erasing takes too much time, and means that you can pretend that your mistakes didn't happen, rather than just learning from them.

That story that I wrote was quickly written, on wide-ruled notebook paper, and amassed to about eleven pages by the time I decided to quit writing it. I took it home with me, and would sit at my desk in my bedroom adding to it, imagining the possibilities. In school, I was the bookish one. I won awards for how much I read, and I aggravated some teachers with my habit of reading ahead when the class was struggling through a novel aloud. For the first time, I realized that I could control the fiction and make my own world from words and paper.

At around that age I mentioned earlier, in the second grade, I was blessed with a fantastic teacher who believed in teaching her students to write. Bless her, because she is one of the heaviest influences of my passion of writing to this day. Although it was well over ten years ago, I remember going into her class, sitting down at my little grey desk with the tacky, public school blue chair, and opening my journal. It was pink, not hot pink, but what I'll refer to as elementary school pink. It was also covered in Care Bears.

This teacher had us journal. Every single day. Some kids hated it, but it was my favorite part of second grade. In fact, I still have the journal. I read back over my childlike perspectives on things, and realize that even though I've become more graceful with words and terminology, I honestly haven't changed all that much.

Now, I've said all of this to actually make my point:

I really miss testing my mind and its limits. I miss the joy of being told what to write about, or how to write it. So over the last week, I've been gathering writing prompts from my friends, family, and the Internet. Some involve writing elaborate fictional tales, and some require a small bit of research. I got so stuck on the idea of becoming a journalist, that I forgot what it was like to just lose myself in writing.

Thank you to the people who have grown and nurtured this passion within me. You guys are the ones to whom I {might} owe my success to someday, if I ever become successful.

I hope that you guys enjoy what's to come, and if you have any ideas on things for me to write about, feel free to reach me at victoria.wickline@gmail.com.

This is a year that I'm looking forward to for dozens of reasons, and I hope that you guys enjoy being along for the ride.