CNF- Alt. Prompt- The First Time I said "The Word"

The silent purr of the engine.  That detail’s stuck with me this entire time, perhaps because of its familiarity.  The quiet thrum beneath my feet dissipated into silence as the Highlander drifted to a stop in the left turn lane of the intersection.

I remember my firm grip on the steering wheel.  The chill of the leathery material through my gloves.  A deep breath in.  Orbs of light floated and blurred in the darkness of the intersection.  Overhead, an angry red light glared down at the rusted jeep in front of me.

“You’re doing so well,” my mom commented from the passenger seat.  She was right.  After two months with a driver’s permit, I’d become more and more familiar with the main roads that hatched across Orangevale.  My current predicament was not unfamiliar to me.  Drumming idly against the steering wheel, I gave my mother a curt nod in acknowledgement.

Nevertheless, I found myself observing the movements of the spiky haired figure in the Jeep ahead of me, mirroring their hold on the steering wheel.  Even after months of practice, I doubted my capabilities.  “I think I have more confidence in your driving ability than you do,” my mom would always tell me.  She was probably right.

Somewhere in the darkness, red flickered to green.  The pixie haired figure ahead of me effortlessly guided their rumbling heap of a car into the intersection.  I trailed behind, following the glow of the headlights as they curled around the cement barrier.  When in doubt, follow the leader.  My body operated autonomously from my mind, circling the steering wheel at the precise angle that would land us in the perpendicular street.  I allowed the pressure from my foot to subside on the gas, waiting for the preceding car to reach the right hand lane…

…Except it didn’t.

In one fluid, expeditious motion, the Jeep swiveled around the parking barrier into the parallel left lane.  My chest tightened as I realized we were about to do the same.

The wheels screeched against the concrete beneath us as I gyrated the wheel in the right direction.  My sight tinted red, the surrounding headlights blurring into an indistinguishable mass entrapping me.  An orchestra of car horns jumbled together and my mother screamed.  A second voice joined in, barking out the most filthy, salacious word in the English language. Through my drunken haze, I realized the voice was my own.

I’d never wished for death before, but the tiny, self-hating part of my brain cried out for it, if only to be saved from biting trepidation.

The red tinge seeped from my vision as the Highlander sailed into the destined lane.  My body remained cold and stiff, my breath coming in fleeting rasps.

“Pull over.”  My mother’s cool monotone brought me back to sobriety.

After I unceremoniously swerved into a nearby parking lot (earning a few appreciative honks from other drivers) and parked, my panting started up again, my chest coiling in anticipation for the scolding I was about to receive.

I was surprised to feel a warm hand on my shoulder.  “Take a deep breath.  It’ll help you calm down.”

It did.

After a moment, I turn to my mother, expecting a pair of stern eyes, but meeting a pair of empathetic ones instead. 

“You aren’t gonna yell at me?” I finally managed to choke out.  “I swore.”

She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.  “No.  I’m honestly more worried about the fact that you almost killed us.”

I shrunk into the driver’s seat, curling my knees to my chest.  “Oh.”

I rode in the passenger seat on the drive home, lowering my head to my knees and willing the incident away from my memory.

CNF-The (Verbose) Curse of Jeremy Ryder

“Morning, Jim!” 

A tuft of chestnut hair appeared from behind the refrigerator door.

“Mornin’ Chris!”

Chris leaned against the counter, adjusting his tie and pushing his glasses up his nose.  “How’s the office treating you?”

“Good, good.  Everyone’s been great.”  Jim finally spotted the little carton of half and half and withdrew it from the door compartment.  “It’s nice to actually have a separate room for lunch.”  He glanced around the break room, nodding in appreciation.

Chris chuckled good-naturedly.  “Well, you’ve been a great addition to our sales team.  Our profits have gone up nearly two percent since you joined.”  He clapped Jim’s shoulder.  “Welcome to the ranks, kiddo.”

“Thanks.”  A tinge of red crept over Jim’s face.  He reached for his coffee mug and poured in the half and half.  He stirred, transfixed by the swirling patterns in the foam.  “It’s too bad about Aaron, though.”

Chris sighed and nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, he would have retired sooner or later though.  Forty-five years in sales?  Hell, I’ve only been manager for twelve and I’m beginning to question my sanity.” 

Both men laughed.  After they had settled down, Jim sipped his coffee and cleared his throat.  “How hard do you think sales are gonna drop now that Aaron’s gone?”

Chris shrugged.  “Not too bad, providing that I find a half-decent salesman within the next month.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Speaking of which, I have an interview for the sales position scheduled today for…” He paused, his head tilting up at the ceiling in thought.  “Damn.”

Jim sipped quietly at his mug as Chris withdrew his Blackberry from his trouser pocket and flipped through his messages. 

“Oh!  It says right here I have an interview today with … J. Ryder.”

Jim choked on his coffee.  He set his mug down on the counter, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.  “’J’ as in ‘Jeremy?”

Chris squinted at the screen, scrolling down the rest of the message.  “That’s him.  I have him scheduled for 4:30, which should be in… fifteen minutes.”

Jim glanced nervously around the room, fisting his hair in his coffee-splattered hands.  “I, uh, have to use the restroom.”  He darted towards the exit.

“Don’t forget your coffee,” Chris called from the break room, his eyebrows quirked in confusion.

*****

A manicured hand rapped against the door of the men’s room.  “Jim?”

“Sorry, now isn’t a good time, Jenna,” Jim said, his voice muffled from behind the door.

Jenna pursed her lips, running a hand through her red hair.  “Jim, you’ve been in there for nearly ten minutes!  Come out and talk to me.”  She heard Jim sigh.  After a moment of rustling, the door clicked open and Jim skulked out.

“Jesus, look at you,” Jenna scorned, smoothing out stray tufts of Jim’s hair and frowning at the wrinkles in his shirt.  “What the hell were you doing in there?”

“I might have been… Hiding behind a toilet,” Jim mumbled, bowing his head.

Jenna sighed, sliding her palm down to cup Jim’s cheek.  “It’s this ‘Jeremy’ guy that’s coming in today, isn’t it?”  Jim nodded.

Jenna brought her other hand to Jim’s face, tilting his head up to look at her.  “Look.  I have no idea what happened at your last job, but what’s done is done, and you’re just going to have to get past it.  Besides, how bad can this ‘Jeremy’ person be?”

*****

            “I bid you good morn on such a lovely day, my lady.  I find your office workspace in quite delightful arrangement.  Your papers, however, are haphazardly stacked in an arrangement which may or may not fall at any moment, and it is my firm suggestion that you reorganize and rearrange them as soon as you have a free moment sometime in your day.  Oh, how inconceivably ill-mannered of me to not offer my identity to a stranger upon first meeting.  You may refer to me as ‘Mr. Ryder’ in a formal setting or ‘Jeremy’ in an informal context, but seeing as this is an office and therefore a formal environment, it would be in your best interest to refer to me as ‘Mr. Ryder’ whenever you feel the need to address me.”

            The receptionist sat still, her mouth gaping and he eyes glazed as she took in the man standing before her.  A crown of unruly spikes rested atop his head.  His wiry frame was draped in a smart black suit.  Each time he spoke, his face contorted into a plethora of expressions and his hands gesticulated violently.

            Both heads turned as Chris stepped out of the break room and swaggered towards them.  He beamed, offering a strong hand to the other man.  “You must be Jeremy.  I’m Chris, manager of the branch.  Pleased to meet you.”

            Jeremy raised his chin and grasped Chris’s hand firmly. “Ah, yes sir, I can most definitely confirm the pleasure obtained on my account as well.  Ergo, I foresee that our relationship as employee and employer has commenced, and I will most likely, but perhaps not, obtain the position that I have applied for with your favor.  It would be in our common interest to begin the interview now so as not to waste the time in our day which could be spent doing business otherwise.”

            The smile weakened at the corners on Chris’s face.  He gestured towards the door to his office.  “Right this way.”

*****

“So he’s both ‘frank’ and ‘verbose’?” Jenna asked from across the break room table, stifling a grin.  “That’s a deadly combination right there.”

Jim laughed.  “Well, now you know why I only lasted a month at my last job.  I don’t think anyone hated him more than my boss, though.  Once, he nearly hit Jeremy in the head with a bible.”  Jenna snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“A modern day Shakespeare co-worker and a religious nut boss?  Man, you really lucked out, Jimmy-boy.”  Jenna shook her head as her laughter died down.  “I feel terrible for Chris, he actually has to talk to the guy.”  She stood up from the table.  “We should see how he’s doing.”

Jim stood up after her.  “Why?  He’s such a great guy-I can’t imagine him getting mad at anybody.”

Jenna only smirked.  “You have much to learn, young padawan.”

*****

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Jim asked as he shifted the cup resting between his ear and the wall of Chris’s office.

“Yup.  You’re talking to a professional, kiddo,” Jenna assured him, mirroring his position against the door.  They both jumped as something heavy thudded against the other side of the wall.  Muffled shouting grew sharper in volume as the handle of the door clicked open.  Two arguing figures stumbled out.

“…Graduated at the top of my class, beating out any other possible contenders with my superior intellect and therefore demonstrating my qualifications for such an unsophisticated task!  Again, I assure you, you are making an unwise decision in relation to the efficiency of your business as you will be losing any marginal profits I would have obtained!”

“Obtain this!” Chris growled, plucking his stapler off the floor where it had landed earlier and launching it at the other man’s head.  Jeremy’s slim figure darted through the office and through the exit.  With a grunt, Chris retreated back into his office.

Jenna patted Jim on the shoulder.  “Well, you survived your second encounter.  That has to count for something.”

Jim shook his head.  “He’ll be back.  He always comes back.”

Nothing

I spend most of my nights laying in bed, my body caught in the state between sleep and consciousness.  Though I’m worn from a long lay of studies, my eyes remain open, traversing across the cracks in my ceiling.  This period deprives me of some much needed sleep, but is valuable to me nevertheless.  My physical senses dampened by darkness, my mind is free to wander.  Sometimes my thoughts lead into intimate inquiries- how do I look from another person’s vantage point?  How did I do on the test?  Did I leave the stove on?  In other instances my thoughts revolve around more philosophical questions- does God exist?  What is my purpose in this life?  Is someone else in the world laying in bed just as I am, mirroring my thoughts?  As I close my eyes, the questions still buzz around my head like static.  I find peace in the silence that comes from answering each question.

Unfortunately, people in our society don’t question their surroundings and ideals as they should.  From an early age, we’re taught to accept information handed down to us as “fact”.  In school, we’re trained to copy information right of a textbook then spew it right back out come time for exams.  Anyone who questions the curriculum is removed for reducing the efficiency of the machine that is the educational system.  In eighth grade, a fellow student of mine was sent to the principal’s office because she refused to partake in a lecture about Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.  Students such as her were labeled as “problem children”, discouraging any other students from challenging academic standards.

Society itself prevents us from asking questions.  Civilization operates as a whole- trends are adopted, and society members are expected to incorporate it into their busy lives.  Those that do question them are outcast by the rest of society.

But what is the cost of not asking questions?  Without Galileo, the common notion that the earth was flat would have remained centuries later.  The Wright brothers proved that humans could fly, even as their peers laughed at the notion.  Segregation might still be an issue today, had it not been for Martin Luther King Jr.  When an individual asks questions, mankind benefits as a whole.

Back in my own bed, I laugh at the absurd notion.  Mankind as a whole?  That must sound so silly to everyone else.  I turn on my side and fall asleep.

CNF- A Five Year Old on the Zombie Apocalypse (extended)

     Mother, Father, let me begin our impromptu meeting by declaring shame on you both.  That’s right, hang your heads in shame.  How can you have gone this long without acknowledging the number one threat to our society- Zombies?  That’s right: zombies.  Not the kind of corporate birdbrains who plop themselves in a cubicle and rot in front of a computer day after day.  No, I’m talking about the real thing- the kind of monster that makes ramen out of your intestines.

            You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a fish bowl on my head and garbage bags on my hands.  Unfortunately, it is unknown whether the zombie virus is airborne.  As we speak, America’s top scientists are working on the cure for this disease. Take it from the kid who's seen every movie on the subject, read every related article, and checked and updated all the facts on Wikipedia- we shouldn't be seeing results any time soon.  Fortunately for us common folk, there is one known cure- taking a gun and shooting the d*mn thing in the head.  Until an actual cure is discovered or I get my gun license, I’ve provided you with your own set of bags and fishbowls.  You can thank me later.

            I’ve been preparing for the onslaught for months, turning mundane items into lethal weapons.  I can even take down a full-grown man with a post-it note. 

Mother, I’m sure you won’t mind, but I’ve configured your hairspray and cigarette lighter into a blowtorch.  I’ve taken it upon myself to practice operating it in the backyard.  Once I’ve perfected my aim, we should be sufficiently protected from large masses of zombies.  Unfortunately, this fighting technique, as I’ve tested myself, is rendered ineffective in close quarters.

            Mother, curtains can be replaced.  Human lives cannot.  Do you want to die?!

            Now, before I am so rudely interrupted again, I would like to discuss our attack plan providing we have to face a zombie one-on-one.  Simple hand-held objects should be enough to bring the enemy down.  You’ll want something heavy-like a lamp.  To prepare for the possible instance in which no weapons are readily available, I’ve been studying the art of martial combat.  My body is a disciplined weapon of mass destruction.  I can literally kill a man with my pinky finger.

In case our home is overrun and my fighting skills are outmatched, I’ve figured out to hot-wire a car.

Father, I realize you couldn’t drive to work today, but when the zombie epidemic spreads, you won’t even have an office to drive to.

            Oh, don’t give me that look.  If you want to succumb to this deadly virus that has already taken so many human lives, so be it.  Just know that when zombie scum overrun the entire freaking planet and you two are the only humans left on the surface world, I’m not letting you into my impenetrable zombie-proof fortress.  That’s right.  I have a g*dd*mn fortress.  Meeting adjourned.  I’ll see you at dinner.

CNF- An Open Letter to the Sweaty Guy at my Gym (alt. prompt)

 Dear Mr. Sweaty Gym user,

I commend your dedication to staying fit, I truly do.  Most people your age couldn’t give a rats a** about their personal health.  I’m sure you’ve got one of those crazy all-juice diets going for you too.  Yeah, you’re the kind of person Kaiser Permanente loves to plaster all over their ads for health insurance.  Brava.  Unfortunately, the rest of us gym patrons are forced to endure the physical and verbal bearings of your labor.

I remember our first encounter on a slow Sunday afternoon.  Following my usual gym routine, I blasted my playlist of booming Euro-beats and thrashing metal guitars, striding through an imaginary finish line on the elliptical at the end of a long row of empty machines.  I didn’t mind of course, but I was surprised when you passed rows of lustrous exercise equipment and slung your towel over the machine beside my own.  I didn’t even mind the occasional groan from your elliptical, protesting under the weight of your hiking boot-clad feet.  I became annoyed, however, when you started panting only two minutes into your workout.  Assuring myself that you were only out of breath from the exercise, I continued on with my own workout. 

When the panting escalated into a full-blown throaty grunt, I sent my ipod flying out of its secure position in my arm holster and skittering across the floor in surprise.  I was a little irritated at having to disrupt my rhythm to adjust my ipod settings and inspect for damage.

Amidst your barrage of throaty bear grunts, I was somehow able to endure forty more minutes on the elliptical.  Admittedly, I felt a twinge of guilt at the resentment I held against you.  After all, you couldn’t control your need for oxygen. 

I finally caught a whiff of the sour stench of your sweat.  I should have figured it was you I was smelling, but I had to glance over at you to check.  Good God, you were sweaty.  Had it not been for the smell, I would have assumed that the stains running down the back and front of your shirt had come from dumping a bucket of water over your head.  I was sure I felt a spattering of moisture hit my entire right side when you shook out your glistening hair.  The flecks of perspiration speckling my arm confirmed my suspicions.

I leaped off of the elliptical, slipping in the puddle of sweat at the base of your machine as I strode toward the exit, unable to stand your pungent, guttural presence any longer. 

Every time I’ve gone to the gym, you’ve been there, and each encounter heeds the same results.  As a fellow gym regular, I would kindly suggest that you jog on over to Kaiser and get a checkup, or at least use the towel the gym has so graciously provided you with.

Sincerely,

Your Fellow Fitness Enthusiast

CNF-A Five Year Old on the Zombie Apocalypse (Internal Monologue)

     Mother, Father, let me begin our impromptu meeting by declaring shame on you both.  That’s right, hang your heads in shame. How can you have gone this long without acknowledging the number one threat to our society- Zombies?  That’s right: zombies.  Not the kind of corporate birdbrains who plop themselves in a cubicle and rot in front of a computer day after day.  No, I’m talking about the real thing- the kind of monster that makes ramen out of your intestines.

            You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a fish bowl on my head and garbage bags on my hands.  Unfortunately, it is unknown whether the zombie virus is airborne.  As we speak, America’s top scientists are working on the cure for this disease.  Take it from the kid who's seen every movie on the subject, read every related article, and checked and updated all the facts on Wikipedia- we shouldn't be seeing results any time soon.  Fortunately for us common folk, there is one known cure- taking a gun and shooting the d*mn thing in the head.  Until an actual cure is discovered or I get my gun license, I’ve provided you with your own set of bags and fishbowls.  You can thank me later.

            Oh, don’t give me that look.  If you want to succumb to this deadly virus that has already taken so many human lives, so be it.  Just know that when zombie scum overrun the entire freaking planet and you two are the only humans left on the surface world, I’m not letting you into my impenetrable zombie-proof fortress.  That’s right.  I have a g*dd*mn fortress.  Meeting adjourned.  I'll see you at dinner.

CNF-Dialogue

     “Kylie just called.  She’ll be here in a few minutes,” I called out from the bathroom, spitting one last time in the sink and baring my teeth in the mirror to check for any remaining particles.

            “Okay, sweetie, you need to be completely ready to go by then.  Did you brush your teeth?”

            The teeth in question gritted together.  “Yes, mother.”

            I stepped out of the bathroom and into the living room where my mother sat, focusing solely on folding the towel in her lap.

            “Would you mind helping me with this?”  She shoved a towel at me, her eyes still fixed on the material she was creasing with her free hand.

            “Sure,” I squeaked, cringing slightly at the sound of my voice, snatching the towel and plopping down on the couch.  I turned my attention to the rough fabric in my hands, glancing up at my mother every so often while folding.  “So…”

            “So?”

            I swallowed.  “I was wondering- could I possibly have twenty dollars?  We were going to the movies and I might want to get some popcorn or something..;”

            “Alright, sweetie, just remember to bring back the change.”  She momentarily discarded a half-folded shirt, reaching for the purse at her feet and produced a twenty-dollar bill, handing it to me and eying me quizzically.  “What were you and the girls all planning to see?”

            “That Disney movie that just came out,” I answered, my voice faltering.  I bit my lip and stared at the floor, feeling her scrutinizing eyes traversing across my face.

            She huffed, tossing the perfectly creased shirt on top of a pile of identically folded shirts.  “Good, because I just can’t stand the kind of buffoonery that winds up in cinemas these days.  What, with the nudity and language and violence that we plaster on the big screen for our children to see?  I mean really!”

            “Mm-hm.”  Her voice faded into a drone at the back of my mind as I squinted at the clock across the room.  “Five more minutes.”

            “What was that?”

            “Nothing.”  I reached for another towel.

           

Eight pristinely folded towels later, a honk sounded from the driveway.  I jumped up, flinging my bag over my shoulder and rummaging through its contents, checking to make sure I have the appropriate supplies then dashing towards the front door.  “Bye!”

            “Be back by eleven or I’ll hunt you down.”

            “I believe you,” I mumble and roll my eyes, twisting the doorknob.

            “Hey there, gorgeous,” Kylie sang out, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at me as I slid into the backseat.

            I smirked.  “Hey yourself.”  I turned slightly, addressing the person in the passenger seat.  “’Sup, Kyla?”

            She nodded at me.  “’Sup?”

            Kylie turned around to fully face me.  “Dude, I am so stoked!  Black freaking Swan all the way!”

            “Heck yes!  Look what I managed to score.”  I withdrew a party pack of Hershey bars from my bag, wiggling my eyebrows at the other girls and inducing a few laughs

            “Isn’t it rated ‘R’, though?” Kyla asked, drying her eyes.  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

            “Yeah, I heard there are a couple lesbian-type scenes.  That should be interesting,” Kylie answered, catching sight of my giggling form in the rearview mirror.  “What?”

            A devious grin spreads across my face.  “Mom’s going to be so pissed.”

CNF- String of Memories

I don’t remember the first house I lived in.  According to dusty photographs tucked away in bookshelves, I spent the first three years of my life in an apartment in the outskirts of Chico.  I remember burying myself under a mound of pillows and blankets on top of our only couch as the Little Mermaid soundtrack buzzed out of a cd player.  Soon, after my brother was born, my family bid adieu to the apartment, choosing to invest in a “real” house inside a gated community.  Within our own home, I remember sliding across hardwood floors in socks with my younger brother.  I remember reliving this moment the following year in our new house until my brother fell facefirst onto the ground, sobbing and clutching his bleeding nose.  Later that year I found myself crouched over a circular table, grinding down crayons into a picture of a clown, and hoping my fellow kindergarteners would notice how the splotches of color remained within the lines.   I remember in the first grade leaning against the handlebars of my bike, creeping forward on my tiptoes as autumn leaves drifted from overhead trees and crunched beneath my feet.  The following year, I remember the crisp scent of fresh paper as I folded over the pages of my first sketchbook, tracing a pencil across the first page in interlocking shapes.  In third grade I laid on our carpet, propping myself up on my elbows as our puppy lathed between my toes with its tongue.  I remember sitting perched on the edge of my seat in fourth grade, skimming over my note cards and mouthing the words to my speech as I awaited a nod from my teacher.  In fifth grade I swabbed the deck and heaved ropes over the side of the Balclutha as ocean water sprayed my face and seagulls squawked overhead.  In sixth grade, I dangled on the side of a rock wall, suspended by a single rope, desperately groping at the face of the rock for a handhold.  I remember in seventh and eighth grade diving into the edge of the pool and focusing on the pull of my arms rather than the pressure in my head caused by my swim cap and goggles.  In ninth grade I stowed my cap and goggles deep inside an old drawer, instead lacing and unlacing the ties of crisp, white running shoes, bounding through different rooms in the house and bouncing on the firm soles.  A year later I double knotted the laces of a new, purple pair of shoes, kneeling over a starting line and coughing at the dust clouds swirling in the air.  Another pair of shoes later and I found myself plopping into my recliner, gazing into the glowing screen of my computer and resting my head against my fist as I reflected on my first memory.

CNF- Growing is Forever

     In a busy, chaotic world, I often have few moments to myself.  In the free minutes of my day, I often find myself seated at my glossy black piano, my back to the gentle sunlight filtering through the expanse of windows in my family room.  I savor the scent of old parchment as I leaf through the pages of a worn piano book before propping it against the stand, smoothing over the open pages with my hands.  With a slow exhale, I pluck the first note.
     My fingers dance across the polished keys, familiar with the melody.  Gradually, the music builds a steady rhythm, deep notes pulsing beneath tinkling chords.  Absentmindedly I hum along, relishing in the vibrations emanating from deep inside the instrument.
    A warm, ecstatic feeling blossoms in my stomach as the music tumbles into a crescendo, nearing the climactic finale.  I hammer out the final chords, my eyes falling shut as I drive my entire body against the keys.  I linger on remaining notes, drawing out the suspense and reveling in the warm, gratifying sensation bubbling through my body.  I strike out the final chord, my eyes opening to the stark white walls encompassing me.  The dusty sunlight fades as I reach over the piano to switch on the light.  I continue to hum softly as I tread across the cold floor and sling my bag over my shoulder, my body still buzzing even as I hustle through the front door to my next appointment.

Eyes Wide Open

     There simply aren't enough trees in this world.  Their roots are ripped right out of the ground to make space for malls, shops, and parking lots.  Resting beneath the decadent branches of a tree, I was reminded of the natural beauty and comfort these beings provide.
     The leaves rustled as a soft breeze drifted by.  Even as I laid back beneath the sun, I was sheltered by a thick canopy.  It was amazing how many hues of green I could distinguish within a single tree as I looked up.  However, the most striking attribute associated with trees, in my opinion, is their smell.  While images of trees are freely available nearly everywhere, one cannot truly appreciate nature without experiencing the earthy yet clean scent.  It's a shame these little details are overlooked by most.

Why I Write

“Why do I write?” is a deceptively difficult question to answer.  While some easy responses such as, “to pass my class,” come to mind, I believe that my own motivation runs deeper than this.  While I can never fully capture the workings of my own mind, writing allows me to put my ideas and stories into a tangible form.  Writing liberates me from my own emotions when I put on paper my thoughts and worries.  Writing allows me a place to express myself in any way I please without enduring the judgment of others.

While I have many reasons for writing, my motivation is derived from a simple desire to put into words what I’m too afraid to say out loud.