If you’re a writer like me, you know how hard it is to write about yourself and make it sound good. So please, as you read this, keep my weakness in mind 🙂 If you’re good at it, please leave me some tips to help me improve! Although I probably won’t write about myself as much as anything else. At least not to this extent.
My name is Destiny. I chose the nickname/username/pen-name/whatever-you-wanna-call-it “Dollfaced Writer” because my mother sometimes playfully calls me “Dollface”. As I continued to wonder what having a blog would be like, I realized it would be a pretty name to use. Then in my senior year of high school my Creative Writing teacher introduced us to a poem that I simply don’t remember well enough to google apparently because I’ve been attempting to find it for the last ten minutes with no luck. Anyways, it was a famous poem about the realistic viewpoint of the life of a doll (if it had a mind to think) inside a dollhouse. Is it depressing? A little bit, but I loved it. It sealed the deal on the name I had chosen to use as a writer besides my real name. In no way, shape, or form does it imply I have the face of a doll. That would mean it’s porcelain or plastic, and honestly that would be extraordinarily creepy.
To give you, the reader, an idea as to what level of writing or what kind of writing you’ll be reading, I’ll give you some backstory. Backstory always enhances a story. Or it makes everything confusing, but I promise that’s not the case for this blog. So, here we go:
My experience as a writer didn’t start until I was eleven years old. However, as a child I learned how to read in one night and couldn’t stop. Reading is most certainly required in order to become the true author you want to be, so I’m glad I took the time to do so in my school years. In sixth grade, my teacher insisted that we write short stories once a month in English. My friends and I decided to be overachievers and made one huge story together. It turned into a series that the class looked forward to hearing every month. Talk about an awesome start.
After that I tried writing stories on my own. Of course the first three were totally horrible and I shredded them a few weeks ago while I asked myself what possessed me to keep the garbage. Aside from them, I actually wrote a few notebooks worth of stories that even now bring tears to my eyes because for some reason I decided to become a very deep, depressive writer. Maybe the stories in sixth grade about raising dragons with my friends on a deserted island and fighting against evil dragons that lived in a volcano there became boring to me?
While going through hormonal teenage years, my writing improved with every story I wrote. Essays in school became second-nature, even enjoyable to my classmates’ disbelief. Not to brag, but my writing was breathtaking in not only their eyes, but also my teachers. Through my high school years, my English teachers used my work as examples and assured my parents I had a future as a writer. I couldn’t believe my ears. Me? A writer? They believed in me like that? It was the best encouragement I could have besides God’s voice booming down and telling me Himself.
Now, having been part of the work force since I graduated several months ago, the stories have come to a halt to be perfectly honest. Even while taking Creative Writing, the stories just wouldn’t pour out like they used to. Poems, short stories, or anything the teacher asked for came easily, but not a full-blown novel like before. Not that the “novels” I wrote earlier were anywhere near being novel material, but I can say confidently they have the potential if I could just find time to rewrite them.
But I can’t rewrite them all without knowing the time I’d pour into them would be worth it.
I think I just found my problem. I’m being too realistic. And that’s exactly why I needed to start this blog: to be reminded why writing meant the world to me. No matter what was going on in real life, my stories kept me sane by keeping me insane. By that I mean I could escape through them. I could create a world that made sense, unlike the one we live in.
So I ask of you, reader, to help me with that. In return I hope to make reading this blog worthwhile. Thank you for giving me a chance to share what I call my purpose and gift with you. Of making sure every word has the chance to make a difference.
Your Fellow Dreamer,