Chuck Wendig - Flash Fiction Challenge - Why I Write

When I was in first grade one of our assignments was to write a children's book complete with illustrations. We had help from the fifth graders. We wrote the stories and drew the pictures and they helped turn it into an actual book. What came out of the project was a book about a burglar breaking into my house and being beaten up by my dad as well as an uncontrollable passion for writing.

After the book was finished the first thing I did when I got home from school was fold white construction papers in half and make my own books. Without the guidance of the fifth graders my stories lacked structure but they were exciting and fun to make. I let my imagination run wild and created some of the most fantastical creatures and tales I could come up with. That freedom to let my mind run wild and just create filled me with so much joy I couldn't stop. Ive been writing ever since.

Eventually through school including a minor in English from college I learned to structure those wild fantasies and create entertaining stories. Well I hope their entertaining. I can't seem to stop. I love stories. I love hearing them, seeing them, feeling them and more importantly creating them. I love stories of all genres but for some reason I love writing about heroism and fear. 

I love stories that take us out of our comfort zone and places we never thought we could go. I love sitting in my room and creating stories that take me to mythical worlds and introduce me to people who can't even exist yet due to the lack of technology and magic. I love creating stories that people lack the inability to imagine. It fills me with an insane amount of pleasure I can't seem to get anywhere else.

Why I write is because I simply need to. If I don't I won't be able to function. My imagination is a wild animal that can't be caged or domesticated. It needs to roam free in the world and devour the minds of all who come into contact with it. I'm a storyteller. It's my identity. Storytelling is my life. Writing makes me feel good. It keeps me in a good mood and put me in a good mood when I'm in a bad one. Writing is easy for me but it isn't easy to write.

Writing is challenging. It takes a long time to get the story out there and into the world. It takes many hours alone in my room. Staring at a computer screen or down at lines paper. It's a fun challenge though. It's an epic battle with the page to spin a yard that can inspire people for generations. That's what makes writing so precious. It's hard but if you work at it in the end you will have created something. Creating is beautiful. Especially when you feel you've earned it by putting the work in.

I love writing so much I do it for free. I don't need a paycheck to motivate me to sit down and create for hours. Payment would be nice but the satisfaction of knowing someone was entertained by my story is payment enough. It cost me nothing to create but time and effort. It would be great to write full time and not just when I'm free to. However, I don't want to ever feel like writing is my job. The day I feel like writing is a chore and I rather lay in bed is a day I fear. I don't know what I would do if writing stopped feeling like a passion and more like pain.

Writing makes me feel great that's why I write.

Chrissy and Nessa - Chapter Six - School Forever

"School?" Nessa asked. "We have to go to school?"

It was morning and Chrissy was placings Nessa's bloody clothes, including her black shoes and socks, into a black trash bag.

"Yes, school," said Chrissy. "It's important we fit in. Two fifteen year old girls not attending school is going to seem suspicious."

"But we'll be fifteen forever. Does that mean we'll have to go to high school forever?"

"Yes."

"Well that sucks."

Nessa sat naked in the bath tub washing away the remaining dry blood off her skin.

"What are you doing with my clothes?" asked Nessa.

"I need to burn them," said Chrissy.

"Your going to burn my clothes? Can't you just wash them?"

"Washing blood out of clothes is not easy."

"What are you going to do with the body?"

"I'm going to have to burn him too somewhere."

"You know whats strange. I don't feel guilty. I killed that guy and I don't even care. He probably has a wife. Maybe even some kids. This is so awesome."

"If you need clothes you can wear some of mine," said Chrissy.

Nessa turned and looked at Chrissy. Chrissy was wearing her usual blue jeans and plaid shirt. She was dressed like a trucker.

"No offense, Chrissy but I rather go to school naked. I have some spare clothes in my book bag."

"Fine. I'll go get them."

Chrissy entered the living room and opened Nessa's pink jeweled two strapped book bag. She pushed aside a two textbooks, a make up kit and a small designer purse and pulled out a pair of black stockings, a mini jean skirt, a red black and yellow stripped sweater and a pink blouse.

It was obvious to Chrissy that Nessa was high maintenance. She began to wonder if Nessa was the right person to spend and eternity with.

"Do you have to burn my shoes?" Nessa asked. "There my only pair and I got them on sale."

"You'll have to wear a pair of my sneakers until we pick up some clothes from your house."

"Fine," Nessa moaned. "Do you have any sneakers in yellow? They'll match perfect with my outfit."

End of Chapter Six