Why I write

Hi guys, Haziwords here bringing you your fantabulous daily forecast of Hazi…with a chance of writing.

    I’m not a great writer.

In fact, according to my friends, who like my writings (I think), they say I have poor grammar (in the nicest possible way), and my writing is often very lengthy.

According to my mother (who says I have a knack for writing things that hit home in school reports), I have a way with words like no other-only I try too hard on some of my stories.

My dad focuses on grammar (he’s a genuis, and very analytic), but once he gets past that, he says I’m talented. 

My brothers my biggest fan-and my biggest critic.

But anyways, I’m getting off track.

Because this post is about why I write.

(Thank you Junie Desereé, for the contest, the book, and the inspirtation).

          I loathed writing. I cursed whoever created it.

At least, until fifth grade came around. And I began to write these crazy stories in my head-mainly fan-fiction. And mainly in Marvels Avengers. I’d created hundreds of super powers, and me and my friends were the main character. And then, I got this sudden inspiration after a documentary on Einstein’s time and reletivity theory (my parents love documentaries-I found it boring, but ran with it). I would write about a group of six teenagers. 3 boys, 3 girls, a professor, and a TM. A time machine. I had these characters going through some crazy times-and the sole of it all was Merlin.

   About a month later, while walking down the candy isle, came the idea for a title with the play on sugar and spice. (Also from the book I read, Nothing But Trouble). Thus came a crazy story about about a twelve year old girl, who went through trials a perils like no other (from fighting terrorists, to winning soccer matches).

A good couple of months later, I became obssessed with spies-but we won’t go into details with that story, as both my brother and close friend have been pressuring me to write that one into publication.

But that’s really where my love for writing started. Because at that time, I was going through alot, and feeling vulnerable. I needed an outlet- a place where I could be me-but in so many different forms. I could be a soccer champion (even though my feet turn in when I run), a time traveler, a super hero, a spy.

I was so many things, and it took me a away. 

A year later, after I went full-force writer, my life caught up to me. I was twelve, and had seen alot of betrayel; and felt it. 

So, I turned to journaling.

 My mother and brother picked out a simple pink journal, with a snap on it-no lock or key (my brother has never been interested in my journal-we’re best friends first, and siblings last. Basically, he knows my pain, I know his). I poured my heart and soul into the journal. From thoughts about why celery is green-to what kissing was like (I unashamedly write that because I was twelve, and had just finished reading my very first Kindle novel- Clockwise, By Ella Straus), everything was in that journal. It became so worn out that the pages feel out of the cover (it’s not suppose to do that). So, come thirteen, I received a new, thicker model. And once again, drawings, dreams, thoughts and bible verses went into it. It too, fell apart, so now, at a month before my birthday, my mom bought me a pink journal with a clasp (still no lock-mainly now, because I can barely find my keys-you think I’d remember a key?).

So why do I write?

   I’m growing up in a family where almost everyone served our country. My cousin, my dad, my grandfather’s, my uncles, etc.

I become a soldier, or anything like that, because my body isn’t made for that.

So in true conclusion, I write too….

To relax myself-be someone different. I write to release anxiety. I write to finish untold stories…but most of all, I write to make am difference. I write to put myself in the shoes of my grandfather, who served in the Vietnam War, I write to know why my grandfather looks so distant when he talks about it. I write because I want to make a difference-because I try to find ways to bring recognition to to the soldiers who were never recognized. I’m not a famous author now-for making a difference, but in conclusion, I write to practice making a difference.

       Candy and Pie,


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