in the making

How did you become a writer? Who, or what, inspired you?

Words have always been fascinating to me. More so actually, the art of communication through written words. As far back as I can remember, the art of writing and being creative with words has been a huge part of me and my being. Just me, my favourite pen, my imagination and a piece of paper. Or, preferably, a cool notebook with a vintage 80’s and 90’s multicoloured cover à la Saved by the Bell.

I could, and would, spend hours in my own little world just creating sentences and short stories and it didn’t matter if they were only a page or ten pages long. It was such a natural part of me as a child, but I never thought about making a career out of it in the future. I’d have all these ideas and come up with plenty of stories that I wanted to bring to life. Folders and binders filled with notes, ideas and stories about everything and nothing that crossed my mind. I didn’t care if anyone read them or not, I just loved to write. It’s a shame that I don’t have all my old writings. How fun wouldn’t it be to read all of them again.

Reading is also a huge part of my life, or books in general. Although gone are the days where I could read at least two books a week. The thicker the book, the better. Books and literature were, and still is, something that warms my heart and soul just thinking about them. As a child, I used to get very eager and enthusiastic thinking about going to school, to study and having access to every piece of literature that I wanted to read. Dark academia before I even knew what the fuck that was. Even though, unbeknownst to me at a VERY young age, my school experience unfortunately had other plans for me ‘til the age of 16-17, I’m awfully grateful that I can live out my dream now and unapologetically pursue my passion and hobby.
Must be my 9^th house North Node(s).

But maybe my love for this specific artform came from me being an only child and in need of an outlet for all my questions, imaginations and curiosity of the world around me? Answers to questions that nobody could, and sometimes wouldn’t, give me. That childlike wonder.

But who fucking cares? I’m happy where I am.