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January 27, 2008

I got it from my mama.

      She has blue eyes and blonde hair. She has patience, discipline and a grace about her that is indescribable. She is able to bite her tongue in serious situations, but is still able to get her point across when need be. I am and have none of the above. A picture of her and me at my graduation party sits by my computer at school, and I have to admit, her little smile brings one to my own face when my days are not going as planned. She is my beautiful mother, and the reason I started to fall in love with writing in the first place.

       My mother is an artist. She does not always admit that she is good, but the girl has some serious talent. When I was little I wanted to be just like her, I wanted to be an artist. On occasion, mama would let me draw and paint with her; we quickly found out that I am not like her in that aspect as well, though I feel that I have greatly improved over the years. However I think mama wanted me to be able to let out my feelings in a productive way. She bought me a journal, I was four, I did not catch on to that whole writing thing yet, so she did it for me. I talked and she wrote. Looking back on it now makes it feel like a therapy session. As I grew up though, I began to go through many journals and the love of writing started.

       As I entered high school, I entered a new development process that made me fall in love with the craft more than ever. I began to use an online journal and started to write for fun, I was a nerd, I will not lie about it. By the eighth grade I had actually began to take an interest in where my writing could take me, and whether it was the hormones kicking in or the ever changing world around me, the writing seemed to flow freely from my little brain and straight on to the paper, and a paper remembering September 11th had brought on a writing assignment that won recognition with teachers, along with poems turned in as assignments from subjects ranging about love, hope and peace to depression, war and suicide. Needless to say, teachers were concerned, but the assignments turned into published works and numerous awards by an average and happy thirteen year old; a thirteen year old that wanted to be challenged more with her art and wanted to see how far it could actually take her.

     Through out senior high I was blessed with four more women that were gifted in an art form, though also not like my mother, they each were able to show the art of writing and how to fully use it and obtain it and how to become a master at the art form, just like themselves. They expected a lot from me with the praise I seemed to have stamped on me from junior high. Though at times I struggled, these women pushed me to my limits and made me overcome them. I am more grateful to them than they will probably ever know.

      However, now out in the world on my own, I have to draw inspiration for myself. I gather it all from movies and music of all genres, along with traveling and even from people I meet everyday, whether they bring a positive or negative outlook into my life is up to them, but in some way I find a way to learn and grow off of their lives and make it apart of my art. I want to be famous with my craft. I want to bring life back to the English language by showing a love through it in my work. I plan on writing novels; that are read by more than just high school students trying to get through an English class and movie scripts; that turn into Blockbuster hits and remain classics for people of all ages. I want to be amazing, and I plan on using this little thing called writing to do so. My mama started it all, she is amazing and she is an artist. I still want to be like her, I want to be amazing and I want to be an artist, just now, I have a different kind of canvas and brush to work with.

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