My Writing Journey
*Guest Blog today by Lauren Narducci
Ever since I can remember, I have had a pen in my hand. I would write and write and write, until my hands cramped, and the room grew dark. I was always writing, and always imagining. Recently, I stumbled across the many notebooks I had filled when I was younger shoved in a box in my closet. Written in those crumpled notebooks were pages full of short stories that had gone unfinished.
After a while, I dropped that pen and did not pick it up again until senior year of high school. That school year, my creative writing class came soon after a favorite teacher of mine died. Writing was an outlet for me, a way to let go of the thoughts entangled in my brain; so I saw this class as a way to cope. My writing was dark, and filled with death. Many of my classmates started worrying and began asking questions. I told them I had lost someone I loved, they nodded their heads and that was all that was said. The end of the semester approached and after editing and editing and editing, I turned in my final story to my portfolio. When grades came back, I was surprised at my teacher’s comments about the story.