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My enjoyment for writing started in elementary when my assignments consisted of making up stories and typing them for my classmates to read. I began to put down my fantasies and whimsical stories in a place where others could see it.
The Busy Snail There once was a snail that lived under a rock.......
At home, I would spend hours fantasizing about all the places I could write myself into in those stories. Could I have been friends with the busy snail? Would I also be a=snail? Or a human with the superpower of speaking to snails?
Forever Beautiful I had planned it for months, I had seen come and go on different occasions....
But as time went by, I changed writing for painting, and I was able to channel those crazy ideas I had differently.
Until one day, my stories were not as simple. I could no longer just paint my ideas, I had to share them differently.
I remembered how much I enjoyed writing stories when I was younger and I decided to go back to my old hobby.
Now, even as I walk, I make up stories in my head from the littlest details in my life. How must life be for that shopowner? What if he is not from here? Could he be an alien? Why is he here then?
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