Rekindled LoveThere once was a point in my life where I hated to write, and I mean HATE it. Whenever we were assigned essays, just the thought of me needing to sit down and write for a few hours, whether it be on paper or the computer, would make my stomach curl...that was until my senior year of high school.
Growing up I was always an imaginative kid. Though I lacked skills in art, I often used to let my creativity shine in plays, sports, and mainly reading. You could rarely catch me without a book in my hands growing up until middle school, where athletics then consumed my life for a few six years. I loved to read and no matter what the story, I could always picture what was going on in my head like a perfect movie. I even became so intrigued by that, that it inspired me to write stories of my own. I can remember in 6th grade when I first tried to write stories of my own, but my mind was so "jumpy" during those days that I could never follow up on my ideas.
Moving ahead to the next year, basketball and soccer soon became everything that I breathed, reading, doing plays, and other of my creative projects falling to the wayside as they had to be cut out for my busy schedule. I cut them out so much that writing, a thing I once dreamed about doing, as I said earlier on, became something that would make my stomach curl to even think about, especially with the papers I had to write allowing no creativity at all, every single one of them having to be a bland paper on facts.
As I grew older and my coaches screwed up any hopes I had of going anywhere in athletics in favor of trying to get their own kids to succeed in their athletics dreams, sacrificing those who deserved it more then them, it became apparent that I had to move my hopes to a new field, to one I had pushed to the side in favor of my sport life. That doesn't mean to say that I jumped right back into it however, it was thanks to an old teacher that my interests were rekindled in that field. During my senior yea, my English teacher, who was moved up from the middle school became the new English 12 instructor, his job to prepare us for college. What I was expecting, as were many people in my class did, was an Easy A on just bullshitting papers just many of us always had and ride the wave to graduation. Little did any of us know that he would soon put us through a creative writing boot camp that got many of us to start using a part of our brains that we might not have realized we had, or had forgotten about. Paper after paper he had us write about, from a dream we had, to making our own stories, to analyzing poetry, everything that I had once loved but pushed away I was calling back to my arms, my creativity restored. Now two years after that, during my free time between college work, I have dipped my fingers back into the writing field hoping to one day become a published author, just as I wished I would when I was a boy.