A Big Happy Family - Part 3

So there it is. The exact reason why I choose to write. No I'm not saying that you should only write if you're depressed - if that was the case, there wouldn't be too many writers out there - but I am saying that people should know what it's like to be in their characters place.

For the next months later, I was never quite myself. I'd smile once in a while, I'd still talk, but it never felt the same I'd look at someone, and wish that they could've been there too. People talk about their own lives like they're living happily ad I remembered what that used to feel like. Only part of the family was missing. The rest was broken.

But I would read all the time. And truth be told, if you can't read well, you can't write well either. I read for hours, never really stopping a lot because it was my only way to get away. When I realized though, that books were only a distraction from it all - that they would never really make it all go away - I knew there had to be some other way to flush the pain out and live on.

That's when writing took its place. It starts with an idea. Something as simple as staring at a issue box can spark one. My place of expertise was fantasy. Anything can happen, and everything will happen. So I put my pen to the paper and wrote out some kind of story. I have no idea what it was about, but it wasn't that good. Nevertheless, it worked. I spent more and more time writing out stories than anything else. The rest of my time was spent reading.

All of a sudden, I started to enjoy it. It was more of something I loved to do than anything else, even though it only started because I wanted to forget about specific members of my family.

In short, many many many many many stories followed on from that. I learned more about grammer, more about spelling, and definitely more about life. Though there were still a few more spins to it all that fate still had waiting for me.