There are, I believe, around an infinite number of ways to begin. Not knowing, I daresay, nearly never knowing, how to begin, I decided that my first words should say nothing, yet everything. Nothing, because I did not use a single idea I had, and everything, because without picking one, I picked all.
I am a seventeen year old girl and my name, nationality, etc, are irrelevant. I understand if you feel you wish to close this window immediately because you don’t want to hear about yet another teenage story. I agree with you, I hate those. I would react the same way if I were you, I suppose. But then again, perhaps I’ll finish reading this, and see what the stranger has to say. The stranger is only here to write about what she thinks, observes, and has noted about this world. She will not talk about the girl who stole her notebook just get back at her for having talked to her boyfriend. I cannot do that for two reasons. The first: no one has stolen my notebook. The second: there are things far more important than the manipulative, media consuming, teenagers.
If you’ve gotten this far then I thank you. I think it’s the first time I’ve let someone read what I write. You see, I want to be a writer, one day. Writing, I think, is in my blood. It feels as though I was born to do it. This blog, however, was not my idea. It was my sister’s, she encouraged me to write without realizing she had. Thank you. A blog is not where I hope to be one day, as a writer. But not only is it a form of practice for my writing skills but also to let you have an insight into my mind through your reading is an important step in a writer’s journey. I want to write because I love to write, but also because I have benefited from reading. I have benefited from the power of reading. It is an extraordinary gift, one that sadly is slowly being forgotten.
But I also want to write so I can help. Help in any way that I can. And if I keep dreaming about the day I become a writer and the day all my dreams come true and the day I feel I’ve influenced someone for the better, then that day will never come. Because it only means that I wouldn’t have understood the true meaning of my hopes and aspirations. There’s a reason we use that term, “one day”, it’s because we don’t believe in it. What if I never publish a novel? What if I never get to write all the stories I’ve always dreamed of? What if I never get to autograph some person’s copy of “my book”? What if? Then would it mean that I would have failed? I hope not. Perhaps it would mean that I would not have fulfilled my dreams to their full extent. But many people live and die without having accomplished their goals. Does it mean that they haven’t accomplished anything? Of course not. It only means that while not doing one thing, they were enjoying another. Thus if my novels are never published, would it mean that I would not have helped anyone? If I’m not a critically acclaimed writer, would it mean that I would have failed?
This is where I chose to begin. I chose to start writing to you.