Importance Of Creative Writing

That’s a question that has plagued me more, now than ever. Sadly, there is no spectrum to determine such a thing, only I would be privy to such information, and at this point, I’m unsure. For my last semester in college I took a Creative Writing class, and it was one of the greatest academic choices of my life, but it made me question a lot as well. From writing poetry to this last non-fiction piece I wondered if I’m was cut out for the life style of a writer.

I began writing when I was young, around the time when my writing was still forming, the letters were slanting off the line, and my syntax worse than it is now. I wrote a “poetry” piece about something that currently escapes my mind. Yet, I remember it was the result of my sadness and

I’ve tried different styles poetry and worked on a story that I wasn’t sure if I could bring it as far as I did. It was a struggle, but the struggle truly came when I would receive unwanted grades. I have been conditioned to think my success is determined on a spectrum of 0 to 100percent, and when it doesn’t fall within a certain spectrum I feel I deserve, it makes me question everything. I desired to how my writing ego stroked, even a small amount, yet, to see the results I was getting, especially when it came to fiction, it all crushed what ego I

I compare myself to my professor who when he was in college the more he wrote greater his grades suffered, does that mean I’m not a writer? I parallel myself to who I use to be, I wrote frequently throughout the week when I was young, does that mean I’m not a writer? I judge myself against writers of the past who were either mentally troubled or a creative genius… Can I make it as a writer?

I picture this future as a writer, my novels have pierced through this barrier of women of color as leading roles; frightening against stereotypes places upon them. No longer will there be the Black woman whose has “Baby-Daddy” drama or trying to get a man, or having a multitude of affairs, or she is snapping her fingers and rolling her neck. I see my books, inspiring others, having characters to admire, or Hell, just someone to dress up as on Halloween.

I don’t know. As I said, only I would know such information. All I know so is that my creativeness is not determined by the 100 on a paper. That nothing is guaranteed in the writing world, what can be the greatest thing since sliced bread one year, can as easily be a hot pile of shit next. That there will be more lows than high, competition is aplenty and to not let that deter me. To never stop learning, for one is never finished growing. And that at this moment I may not know if I’m a writer, but I have the rest of my life to find