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Please note, this does not talk about the true aspects of my life. I don’t want to talk about everything that has happened to me.

Life is a tug-a-war game. On each side is an influence, the writer side of me stood on one end while the cynical, depressed me stood on the other. This journal showcases the event.

Age 8:

I am so mad! My younger brother gave away my favorite book to the school book affair. Now every book is boring. Why did it have to be that book? What is the point of reading? There isn’t a point. That was my favorite book…

At Age 10:

Wow! I did really well! I wish every essay could be like this where we have the freedom to write a story. At first I had no idea what to write but then I just imagined all the details about one of the days I had during summer and just wrote.

Note: I had the same English teacher at Age 10 and 12.

Age 12:

My teacher just told me that I should become a writer but I don’t think so. I am not creative enough to do that. It’s also a really competitive field, I don’t think I could hold up to the standards anyway.

At age 13:

Writing is a joke. Why do we have to take an English class? We speak and write English every day. We already know what a verb is and how to properly use them. Writing proper sentence structures should just come naturally to us. This class is dumb.

Age 15:

I hate this English teacher. She’s so snotty. The moment I spoke to her, I knew she hated me. Just because I can’t speak well (I have a strong accent), doesn’t mean she should discriminate against my writing and intelligence. Well, at least I learned how to utilize power verbs.

Age 16:

I love reading classics. I checked out “Edgar Allen Poe Stories” and “The Great Expectations” by Charles Dickinson from the library awhile ago. They definitely manifest some kind of magic over words and the English language. Oh, “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck, a book I had to read for my US history class, also took my breath away! The Other day, I encountered an interesting novel, except I plan on reading it for the summer, called, “One Hundred Years of Solitude” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I only read a couple of pages before I had to leave the library but it looks really good. (It was actually assigned as summer reading for the following year ironically)

Age 17:

I hate writing. I hate books. I hate school. Are we actually learning anything sitting here for 6 hours a day as we to talk to our peers? Seriously, this is a waste of time. I could actually learn something by not sitting in here. School is just one big play pen to confine children and teenagers away for as long as possible because we are just nuisances to the adult world and society.

They call it school, a place of education. In reality, everyone just socialize and thinks learning is one big joke. We are cattle. We roam around like drugged cattle, and walk up and down staircases in herds. We yield to anyone who influences on our well-being. It’s a slaughterhouse! You don’t want to be here then fail school, fail life, fail, fail, fail, fail! Just fail if you don’t want to be apart of the herd. If you don’t find it enjoyable to sit in class listening to your peers screaming across the room, then FAIL! If you don’t want to conform and be slaughtered into mindless beings, then FAIL!

Between Age 17 and now:

No thoughts. No expression. No ideas. No words. Besides for an overwhelming sadness.


I was in a really dark place for a really long time.

My best friend told me, “Well, while I am busy, you have to keep busy. Find something to do.”

I was paranoid. No matter what I did, it couldn’t hold my attention for long. My friend didn’t understand until recently. And through this understanding, I woke up and decided I should write again. I have this nagging fiction story as long as a novel lingering in my brain for the past few years. At first, I thought I would write it but I haven’t actually written a story in years! My lack of experience wasn’t the only thing holding me back because there was another problem: Who the hell would pick up and read my novel?

That is when I decided I will open a blog and gain writing experience and potential readers for my novel. But it is much more than just that. I knew that through writing, I would probably retake an interest in reading again by reading other people’s posts, which in turn would inspire me to continue writing, and thus this circle would captivate me into keeping busy.

Since I am busy writing, reading, and figuring out social media function thingies, I am less paranoid now. The best thing I have found on the internet since I started writing is a small magazine called The Corner Club Press. I don’t know, there’s just something about it that makes me feel energized, or perhaps it’s because the coffee theme layout.

Nonetheless, here I am writing. The writer side of me won the tug-a-war event. Thus, this one act began a circus.

—-Eli Jenkins

Writing Challenge: Writerly Reflections

In this challenge, tell us how you fell in love with books and writing.