The howl of the wind as the fresh smell of summer comes rolling through my window as I lay submerged in the soft canyon formed in my sheets. A proud but seasoned spine stubbornly cracks open to release the secrets locked within as I anxiously anticipate how the story will come to a close in the book I had been working on for a few months now. Before I became the writer I am today, I was a reader. From the stories I heard as a child or the first book that I was finally able to finish in 5th grade; reading has inarguably sculpted my ability to write. While I love reading, even if finding the free time to do so can be difficult, it was not always something that was appealing to me. The endeavor of lying down for 3 hours on my sheets staring at a cluster of stapled paper would never have occurred to me as enjoyable, yet in hindsight I have done it dozens of time within the past few summers of my life.
A brisk slap as a page is lifted up into the air and falls back in position on the opposing side. With every new page comes a new piece in the story line. Every word has an impactful meaning on the plot that expresses the joy of a character, sound of a battle, or the comforting touch of an empathetic mother, lending itself to show the reader everything that the character or story is progressing towards. I finish another page and quickly swipe my hand from my side to enter into the next adventure, constantly envisioning the movie inside my head and being almost fed the film one word at a time. Consciously I take a moment to realize how lost in the pages and text I am. The author in this novel has entrapped me again to the current piece of art I am gazing upon. I can’t stop reading and honestly I don’t want to. I conclude that this is the type of writer I want to be; I don’t want readers to read my work. I want them to envision it, just as I have envisioned the dozens of books in my mind.
The pounding footsteps of thousands of men, horses and wagons blanket the ground beneath their feet as they dutifully go rushing towards their intimate end as leaders in their ranks usher them forward faster than they ever thought possible. Reading has taught me of the amazing empowerment that a writer has. One would usually identify the construction of whole planets, races, and omniscient sight of everything created as the result of a God, yet writers make use of this power every day with a simple stoke of a pencil or the press of a button. By use of writing a person can be sent to any place in the world that they can imagine. They can be with a person they desire and can go on any adventure or walk any path they strive to embark on. This idea is one of my core beliefs as to why I love to study and write literature.
Reading has showed me that writing is not something that limits you but rather something that empowers you. The books I have read have instilled upon me values and intriguing new ways to look at the world around me. They have taken me on a journeys that show me the depth of love friendship can offer or the amount of courage one can possess. Learning from an author, my stepmom, who has written a book herself on Wellness and Nutrition, I never knew the complex thought process and routine a writer has to go through to write their book with the desired effect in mind. While reading the books I have grown to love for entertainment, I never considered how much work had gone into them until I saw how much dedication and time someone puts into the writing what they are passionate about. I experienced this phenomenon when I wrote my essays for my Army ROTC scholarship.
Frustration, the word I feel best describes trying to do expository writing. I know the experiences I have had and the way they have prepared me to be a leader and yet I cannot seem to place my feelings on the blank screen staring back at me in silent mockery. I try and refer back to the how authors grabbed my attention in the books I have read and what made me want to continue reading. Nothing was coming to my mind, and if had, it was defiantly not formulating itself into anything meaningful. I would not give up. An idea soon stuck me as to how I was going to complete this mountain of work that lay before me.
Creativity, the ultimate key to success in writing and in reading, a full-proof solution to either failing or succeeding. I knew this inexplicable power could be obtained because I had seen it used in novels on countless occasions. I was going to have to get creative in my writing if I wanted to vocalize everything that needed to be said. Lucky, the experiences I had as a reader had shaped my mind to think in ways I would have never considered before. I began using words that were connecting my ideas rather than separating them and crafting an overall theme to my writing rather than a group of scattered ideas. Writing in the end was the key factor in obtaining my scholarship that would directly affect the outcome of the rest of my life.
Ironically, writing has outspokenly shaped and molded the way I see books. Being able to realize and appreciate both ends of the spectrum has greatly uplifted my ability as a producer and consumer of literature. The beginning of the masterpiece directly reflected the end, and both needed to be stringently analyzed to appreciate their separate, but intertwined beauty.