Tiny Masters

My mother likes to tell a story of when I was just a little girl where my whole class was to write a very short story. The prompt was that we had found a hippo in our backyard and after a few weeks the proper owners take it away. My mother says that other kids wrote ‘I was really sad’ and such things, but I had written that a single tear rolled down my cheek and that I couldn't go into the backyard for a very long time. In every English class I've ever taken, I've had to write something. I always try my very best to make that something interesting. I love it when words flow from a page and take the reader to a magical place, where you can smell, see, hear, touch, and even taste what the author writes about. You’re whisked away to a different place, a different time, and all your troubles may fade away. I cannot remember when I started writing, but it was song lyrics. Very, very bad song lyrics. I would often hear a song and rewrite it to suit me, but my skills lacked and it usually resulted in something silly. As I got older I read more, and the more I read the more I loved it. I love the places that I could go in my mind because of books. However I could only read books, I never realized I could write them too. But a man changed all of that. One day I sat down and read a book called Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I had gotten the book from the library for no particular reason and read it in my room. The sun painted on my wall smiled at me and watched as I was whisked away to a place where a sun that could smile didn't seem like a crazy idea. My room always smelled like flowers, and I took that scent with me as I traveled Wonderland with Alice. Something about the book clicked with me. Suddenly I knew that I could write stories and poetry, there was nothing to stop me. I owe it all to Lewis Carroll, and I am very happy that I do. My first attempts were poor, but I got better with age. At this point, the more I read the better I got at writing. I learned that I would always write sad poetry, my stories tended towards the Gothic, and my songs held no perception in the fact that they could be happy, sad, or somewhere in between. I've written countless poems that I’m so proud to call my own. I am so happy to look back upon the things I've written, not regretting a single thing. My songs are the same, I sometimes hum them to myself with I find it hard to think. And my stories I will always treasure, no matter what others say. I am so proud of every half baked plot, poorly executed scene, and silly dialogue. You see, within all of those things is an idea. A beautiful, beautiful idea that was my very own. And why do I write? Is it because I can? No, of course that’s not the answer. It’s oh so much better. I have a blessed gift, a gift called imagination. What is imagination but a gift? I can create whole new words in a night and a million lives in half that time. Being a writer is about as close as you can get to being a god. Names, places, people, pets, houses, everything is under your control. When you’re in a foul mood you can be horrible to your creations, and when you’re in a good mood you can give them the sky. So I write because in my mind there are endless worlds always being created and if they don’t come out who knows what could happen. I write and I write and I write as seen fit by the worlds that run around in my mind, and I regret none of it. I’m a master of imagination, through and through. Like a hatter who slowly went insane by the creeping mercury from the hats that they make, my imagination has crept into all aspects of my life. My hair, my clothes, my makeup, and my personality show the signs of imagination. It does remind me of the Hatter in Tim Burton’s version, how his insanity crept into everything. My imagination has crept into everything, just as his insanity did. And considering that the whole reason for my being as a writer is Lewis Carroll, no comparison could make me happier.