On Writing

When I was younger, the dream was to become an author. This was the age where I was into Jacqueline Wilson; I even went to see her to get some books signed and told her I wanted to be an author. I think this thought stemmed from when I was really young, when I took it upon myself to copy out half of a Cinderella book into a notebook. I soon grew bored of just copying, so I made up my own ending. Reading it back, it's so terrible, but at least it made me use my imagination at a young age.

From here, I began to write my own stories, and went through numerous notebooks in the process. I enjoyed imagining myself in these worlds I had created, and especially liked giving the stories to my family and getting a response to them. In primary school, we had specific times dedicated to creative writing, and I would just write solidly for an hour and a half, or however long those times were, filling up pages upon pages of my exercise books. My teacher would encourage me by letting me read my stories out to the class at the end of the session, which I enjoyed, except from the time I had reached a particularly gory stage in my imagination and became embarrassed when I had to read out my story about a man ripping his own heart from his chest.

I can remember to this day the disappointment I felt in myself after writing the most terrible story in the creative writing section of my 11+. The exam paper gave an introduction to a story, and you had to finish it whilst showing off creative skills, as well as good grammar and spelling. My nerves got to me, and I just wrote without really thinking it through, scared I would run out of time with nothing written on the paper. I remember I wrote about a weird pixie creature (from the planet Eixip, no less) visiting this girl in the middle of the night. I even cringed at it myself after I wrote it, and I was 11. After the exam, I asked the girl sitting next to me, of whom I had made friends with, what she had written, and it was some detailed detective story. I thought for sure I had failed the exam, but surprisingly passed.

Even into secondary school, I would make the most of creative writing assignments (thin on the ground as they were, and usually a small part of a larger, assessed module). My mum would often ask for copies of my stories and hand them out to the family (we're THAT kind of family). At this stage though, I hated being graded on my stories-I put too much of myself into them and could immerse myself too much in their world to care about what some teacher had defaced them with. It was at this point that I stopped writing. I had too much time devoted to revising subjects I didn't care about, like maths and religious studies, but it was important that I got a GCSE grade for them, so that I could forget about them for the rest of my life.

I feel that the latter part of secondary school stunted my creativity. That's probably harsh to say, but that's how I feel. Everything seemed guided towards getting the perfect grade, not exploring the parts of a subject that you enjoyed. I understand that's what school is like now and whether that's a good or bad thing is another discussion. Even in my favourite subject, English, which I enjoyed, I felt limited. Essay structures prevented you from steering away from the question at hand, meaning you didn't really explore away from set topics. I had stopped reading and writing in my spare time completely.

It's only now at university where I've been able to feel creative in my writing again. Yes, I am still restricted within structures and guidelines, but have more time to explore topics that interest me, because I'm not devoting that time to studying subjects that have no relevance to me (like MATHS!). This blog especially has helped me explore things that interest me, and helped me to find out my opinions on things that didn't even cross my mind before. While I am restricted in the way I set it out (so it's readable etc), I can write about whatever. And that's great.