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[10 Jul 2003|07:49pm] |
*Kali sat on the grass, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them, her blue eyes taking in the fading blue sky, pink and purple clouds, and bright streaks of golden light from the setting sun. Somewhere nearby she could hear someone warming up on the piano, and a minute later, she heard a movement from Vivaldi’s The Four Season’s. Lulled by the music, Kali felt her mind wander, and after a few minutes, she shook her head and roused herself from her day dream, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a brand new leather notebook. She opened it to the first page and sighed, grabbing a pen.*
Someone recommended that I keep a diary; it could help with my writer’s block. And I can use this for any ideas I get. Maybe it will inspire me and I can start writing again. This writer’s block is a wretch. It’s driving me crazy.
Words are my life. I’ve been writing since before I can remember. My earliest memories are of me holding a pencil and attempting to make crude sentences. When all of my peers were learning how to write their names and simple sentences like “See Spot run”, I was writing long, although not very good, sentences, forming them into stories. I have always been a storyteller, and I was blessed- or cursed with a vivid imagination. It was a given that I would write.
I needed something to escape into when my father started drinking and doing drugs. He’d come home from work angry, and I would feel his anger. Rarely a day went past when I didn’t end up with some bruise or welt from his hands. He’d hit me with belts, boards, sticks, pans. Once he hit me with a knife. I still have the scar from that. He’d hit my older brother, too, and my older sister. I’m surprised no one ever suspected anything. All three of his kids would go to school with bruises and we were all terrified of adults. But people are blind, and we had learned to hide them early on. In order to keep my sanity, I turned to books and I continued to write. It’s how I got all of my feelings- fear, sadness, anger- out. I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t had those things.
In middle school, my English teacher urged me to enter a writing contest, and I won grand prize. It was only $1,000 and a plaque. But it got me noticed, and A.C.P.A reviewed my works, sent me information, and interviewed me.
The happiest day of my life was when I got accepted on a scholarship to A.C.P.A; I’d be able to get away from my small Northern California town and away from my family. My father didn’t want me to go, but Mom put her foot down. She wanted the best for me. She sent me to live with my godmother, Serenity. Because of her, my high school years have so far been wonderful. And I'm sure the rest of the time will be just as wonderful.
That was 2 years ago; I’m a sophomore here now, and I love it here. I just hope that my writer’s block ends soon. Nothing has been able to inspire me. I’m in the middle of attempting to write a novel; I’d be devastated if I couldn’t finish it.
*Kali glanced around her, noticing that the sun had finally set and the light was quickly fading. She closed her journal and slid it into her backpack, standing up and heading for the campus library.*
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