Anticipation and excitement clouds every persons face. Sometimes you see a flicker of annoyance mingled with that very special anxiety. This crowd of people that impatiently stand behind one another waits for something that they have waited for months to view. It doesn’t matter the weather, whether it’s on a dank steamy summers night, or a frostbitten morning some December, these people have come to get access to the latest story. Dozens or hundreds of people wait at the front of Movie Theaters, book stores, video game stores, or anywhere else these stories can be obtained, just to spend more and more money watching or reading or playing the new story. I was one of these people during my growing up days. I was always excited for the next book,
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“The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy” came shortly thereafter, and suddenly, my mind was once again whirring with stories of space ships and aliens and fantastic fights on far away planets. Finally, I had found something that interested me in reading for a class. Writing was explicitly similar. It felt as if there were stories that had been locked away in a vault somewhere in my brain, and I had just been given the passcode, biometric override, and keycard to get inside. It was like a lightsaber had been put into my hands and I was told to go create a story with it. And I did. My pen was my lightsaber. And I started writing not just papers for the class, but on my own time carving letters and words into paper about an alternate dimension called “The Plazma Zone”. And even though that book idea was never finished, it was a step that I needed to take to help my creative superpowers flow. I ended up doing better in that English class than any other English class in all of my schooling. Then I graduated, and just like that I had to be in this deserted “real world”. My desire to read only dwindled because I didn’t know where to go for good stories. Writing became a burden again, and I found myself turning again to video games and movies for
“The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy” came shortly thereafter, and suddenly, my mind was once again whirring with stories of space ships and aliens and fantastic fights on far away planets. Finally, I had found something that interested me in reading for a class. Writing was explicitly similar. It felt as if there were stories that had been locked away in a vault somewhere in my brain, and I had just been given the passcode, biometric override, and keycard to get inside. It was like a lightsaber had been put into my hands and I was told to go create a story with it. And I did. My pen was my lightsaber. And I started writing not just papers for the class, but on my own time carving letters and words into paper about an alternate dimension called “The Plazma Zone”. And even though that book idea was never finished, it was a step that I needed to take to help my creative superpowers flow. I ended up doing better in that English class than any other English class in all of my schooling. Then I graduated, and just like that I had to be in this deserted “real world”. My desire to read only dwindled because I didn’t know where to go for good stories. Writing became a burden again, and I found myself turning again to video games and movies for