Even just now I looked down at my snoring, sleeping dog, and watching her I began to formulate a story about a girl who's closest companion is her dog and they'll have wonderful adventures. And that's where my problem begins. I think of a story and the moment I try to come up with all the details it scatters and becomes so jumbled in my thoughts that I can hardly begin to write it.
I think of all the great authors I love, J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis (ha, I could be C.S. Herron), Jane Austen (and of course the list goes on and on), and I want so badly to be able to do what they did. To write wonderful stories and bring such beloved characters into the world. But I have to refine myself, refine my work and control it, which I am not very good at yet. It sounds weird, but I also have to let it free, let the creativity flow through my pen. Yes, I write all my stories, not type them. I have a massive load of journals with unfinished stories. They are unfinished and unread. There was a part in the movie about J.K. Rowling when she was teenager and applying to college, and her friend told her that if she wanted to be a writer she had to let someone read her work and she said no one could read her stuff because she hadn't written anything that came to life yet. That's exactly how I feel. I feel mundane about all my ideas so far. Nothing has really spoken to me...yet. I hope very soon that I can produce something good. Something really good.
You will get there, sweet girl! I just know it-
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