How The Stories Begin:Just Write It July 2016

Middle School

Where do I begin with middle school? We can all agree that middle school is the awkward phase between elementary school and high school that life forces us to go through. I got braces, glasses, pimples, voice cracks, and probably other things that I pushed deep into the back of my brain so I could never remember them again, even for these moments where it seems relevant to bring them up. I had my first really big crush that literally ruined my life even till today. The bullies followed me all the way through. Friends were hard to come by too, except for some really special friends that I still see. I can probably write a separate book on everything that went down. But despite the awful things that came with middle school, I left that place with the best thing that I will ever make for myself.

My mom made my sister and I do this thing called SpiderSmart, which was some sort of tutoring place that has us read a book and write an essay on it every week. I hated it with all my heart, because I hated the choice of books they had. But then I read this book called Eragon by Christopher Palolini. Let me just say right now, no matter how many books I read later on in my life, no matter how good they are or promise to be, The Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Palolini is the best book sequel I have ever read. (did you know that most books are actually part of a sequel, not a series? Look up what a sequel means.) I've read so many book sequels that are definitely a close second and third, but Palolini is close to my heart. Riordan and Palolini started my love for writing, because my beginning writings were all fantasy related, more Greek mythology based then anything else. Sometimes at SpiderSmart, they would have us write a summary story using ten or so vocabulary words and they were always impressed with what I wrote, with most of them being Greek mythology, of course. My first stories were all chapters of books that I never finished. I actually wrote a roman mythology based chapter that I actually loved and I can't find for the life of me. My first writes were done in the back of notebooks in the middle of class. I was going to call the book The Fire Sword and the first chapter was great. I might actually re-write it that chapter as a short little story. My little five or six pagers turned into close to ten pagers in a college ruled notebook. I began slightly obsessing over writing, writing in all forms; short stories, poems, even songs. I don't recall any of my English teachers because they never stood out to me. None of them ever noticed that I was writing something besides notes in the back of the classroom or wondered why I didn't need to revise my short stories when we were on that unit. I was set on the basis of writing; I just need to evolve into a true writer.

I am half Korean. My dad is White and my mom is Korean. When I was in the seventh grade, my mom put my sister and I into a Saturday Korean School. It was three hours and I honestly never learned there. The teachers weren't really teachers, just people who spoke Korean. There's a difference between the two, although some of my Spanish teachers didn't know that either. So I met two girls there and instead of doing nothing, we drew fashion, because that's what I was into, like how silly bands were a thing. I drew the dresses and the other two girls drew the jewelry. We called it AKC Fashion, the first initial of all our names. Original, right? So one day, we wanted to just free draw. So I wanted to work on drawing people I guess but I started drawing little people with butterfly wings that were detachable. Kind of like Thumbelina. Then I started drawing angels, fabricated from my own imagine. They wore flowing dresses like royalty. I guess I was inspired by the Maximum Ride Sequel. Then I drew this picture that I will never forget, even if I lost the picture. On the left was a small girl, kneeling with chains around her body. She didn't look weak, but determined about something. Standing above her was a queen angel, but with black, raven like wings jutting like sharp swords into the sky. The queen was holding her hand to the little girl as though she was welcoming her, or teasing her. I stared at this picture for a long time and I thought to myself hey, I can make a story about this. And so I did. I started writing this little beginning.

"Everyone knows the normal side of me. The bullied, teased, and oddly dressed side of me. The side I could never change as long as I exist. That side, though, is a life that not everyone has. Some say it's a gift. Others say it's a valuable treasure lost in the minds of everyone except for a few. But people like me, if you can refer to me as a person, know that I have been a part of it since birth...We are not the light, but the dark. We are not the warmth, but the ice cold breeze that follows you home. We are the creatures that hide in the dark, waiting for the next victim of our terror, our empty soul. We made our own world far from the humans known to us as Darkani. We cannot be detected by humans so we can keep to ourselves and stay away from the world you may know as home. We are the Dark Angels."

Something cool that I learned about my writing is that I don't look back. I just keep writing until I'm done with that chapter or paragraph. I wrote the entire introduction and then I looked it over. As I was reading this. Pictures formed in my head, giving me the plot for the rest of the story. This is the closest to the original introduction that I have. When I read this, it brings me back to the moment where I told myself that there was no way I was going to ditch this opportunity that I have clearly given myself. I wasn't experienced enough in the seventh grade to work on multiple projects at once, so I focused solely on this idea, calling it The Other Side of Me.

Usually I like being loud about what I write, trying to show people that I have potential. But after trusting the group of bullies, again, with my favorite songs that I have written, which was a mistake, I kept this to myself. I didn't want people to judge me for writing a book. They would probably assume that I wouldn't be serious about continuing it. I wrote The Other Side of Me with only a few people knowing about it. One of those people was my library teacher. I took my rough draft of the first couple chapters to her and she gave me the most amazing encouragement when I needed it the most. I kept going with my book, not caring anymore about what people thought anymore.

Near the end of the school year of the eighth grade, I was still writing my book in this now falling apart blue college ruled notebook. I had written three chapters about two thousand word each and at the time I was writing a background chapter for one of my characters, Madison. I was so proud of the chapter and loved every word of it. I also started rewriting and editing the chapters in a new hard cover Five Star notebook. Yeah, the really nice Five Star notebook. I left my last period class, Geometry, and when I got in the car, I realized I left my rough draft notebook in my desk. I was very worried about it because it was basically my baby, but I just told myself that I would get it in the morning. The next morning, I went to the room, went to my desk, and freaked out. The notebook wasn't there. I was actually dying from anxiety. I checked the lost and found in the classroom and it wasn't there. I was so glad that I was copying the chapters into a new notebook, but I didn't finish copying completely. I couldn't just rewrite two new chapters. At the end of the day, when I went back to my desk, I was putting things in it and my notebook was in there. I took it out and realized what happened. My bullies stole it. The front cover was ripped off and throughout the notebook there was scribbles on the words. Even one of them even wrote on the bottom of the page in large capital letters "Nice story" and signed her name. I couldn't believe that they would be this inconsiderate. I didn't let it bother me that much and I kept rewriting the story into the new notebook. A couple days later, my stupid self forgot the notebook again in the desk. That was the last time I ever saw it. It was probably thrown away after that. Even if it wasn't, they couldn't use it for anything. None of them could ever try to finish what I started and think that it could possibly be a decent story. None of them were writers. And only I would ever know how it was supposed to end.

I had rewritten the whole story in the new notebook and I was relieved. But I was never able to copy Madison's chapter. My favorite chapter was gone forever. Even now, I know what it was about. I will always remember the vision of white roses, the last beautiful thing she saw. I remember writing the last few paragraphs with sweat on my brow, making myself write like it was my last words of my life, like Madison. I have tried to rewrite it for the sake of everyone else to experience the emotions that I felt writing that chapter. But I can't. It never sounds the same. I didn't even finish the first page of the rewrite. I hate the people that stole my notebook. Both times. But I didn't let it stop me. As I continued to write my story, I had determination keeping me going. I was going to finish book and no matter what anyone said, it would be the best thing I will have ever done for myself.

So middle school was the beginning of what would be my passion for writing. When I got into high school, I began to have so many opportunities to expand my love of writing to so many others. I am still strong on my book, even though slacking is to be expected when the homework level has gone up by about five hundred percent. I got a Wattpad account in the beginning of high school and started writing outside of my book. And that has been the best decision so far.