The pen is the light to my swallowing darkness.
The sheet is the barren land I carve my creations upon.
There is no reason why I write.
It just is.
It is a part of me.
It is the sedative to my apprehensive person.
The lover I could hold fast to when I grew in need of silent conversing after I lost my closest souls to inevitable affairs.
When conception takes me away to its distant lands where faeries, vampires, and werewolves lie,
Where romance, comedy and terror come alive,
I become the character from this adjacent land, this adjacent land I received from the heavens.
When my reality ceases to exist, I have grasped that pen between my fingers, I'm lost in a world unknown to others and I utter my secrets adorned by mothers.
My Angel is the pen.
My child is the paper.
The Tale is the conception.
And the fantasy is divine.
And I share them with you, my dreams and poetics, because The Fantasy yearns to escape.
And, like a mother, I must set them free; let them grow into what others perceive them to be, whether or not their critics are positive, I will heal their wounds and raise them better and resend them to thee.
This contest, I feel, will bring my dreams half a step closer to a reality, and inspire others with similar dreams to do the same and never give up. I've met a lot of young men and women who yearn to write but refuse to do so because they believe they aren't good enough. They chastise themselves with opprobrious epithets, hurting themselves by destroying their own dreams. I want to show them that when you keep doing something you love you will, without a doubt, get better and succeed, even if the success is small at first it will grow to become magnificent!
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