I first fell in love with the art of writing through reading. As a child, I was an avid reader, always eager for trips to the bookstore, the thrift store’s book section, or the big main library downtown. Every visit, I would come home with at least five books, which I would devour as soon as I got back — whether sprawled on the living room carpet or tucked under the covers by the light of my little lamp. Every year, when the Scholastic Book Fair came to school, I would bring the catalog home and beg my mom to buy me something — whether it was a 3D moving bookmark or an exclusive edition of a book with extra goodies. I consumed so much writing, yet I never expected to fall in love with creating it.
Throughout elementary school, my teachers told me I was a good writer, but isn’t that what teachers always say? I never wrote more than the essays assigned in class. Writing felt like just another task to complete, a paper to submit, never exceeding the boundaries of the rubric. Then one day, my mother suggested I audition for an arts middle and high school. I wasn’t a performer, but she mentioned that creative writing was an option. I didn’t want to audition because of how shy I was, but we were out of school enrollment options. “Just give it a try,” my mother encouraged, and despite my hesitation, I agreed.
On the morning of my audition, I went to what would be one of the last few days of sixth grade. I remember panicking in the principal’s office, begging her to print out my portfolio before my mother picked me up early. Amidst the clunky sounds of the printer, she reassured me, saying, “With your writing, you’re bound to get in.”
That afternoon, I was the only one auditioning for creative writing. I followed the lady down the hall to the creative writing classroom, where I handed my portfolio to the director in exchange for a neon slip of paper with a prompt. I don’t even remember what I wrote, the nervous little girl sitting in the corner, but that moment set me on a path I never anticipated. I got in.
From seventh grade to senior year, I learned countless techniques and wrote many different types of creative pieces, from novellas to sonnets, flash fiction to screenplays. I wrote even when I didn’t feel like writing, workshopped others’ pieces even when I thought they were perfect, and submitted my work to literary journals and competitions, even when it didn’t feel ready. I loved it all. Sure, I went through periods of writer’s block, but it was all part of the process.Â
That was until eleventh grade. Not many people know this, but I had my heart set on pursuing creative writing in college. Then COVID hit. My teacher at the time struggled to teach online, assigning busywork and prompts that didn’t feel authentic to my style. I was used to challenging myself and stepping outside my comfort zone, but this felt different. Instead of in-person workshops, we read our work to black screens, met with uncomfortable silence. Every day, random assignments were due, each one feeling disconnected from what I truly wanted to do. One day, we spent an entire class period guessing if Facebook posts were made by Russian spies or real people. I hit creative burnout and decided I couldn’t continue down that path. It felt like I had written all the words I had in me. So, I chose to major in Biology.Â
After high school, I thought I would never take another writing class. But shifting from years of creative writing to full-time STEM wasn’t easy. I struggled to let go of that part of myself, feeling trapped as I forced myself to write lab reports instead of poems.
In my second semester of college, I decided to add a Creative Writing minor and joined the Poetry Club on campus. One semester was enough to recover from that burnout. I rediscovered my need to write. In my creative writing classes, I met new people, wrote new pieces, and slowly began to fall back in love with writing. Since it was just a minor, I pursued other opportunities, such as writing with the Poetry Club. Through it, I found a local community of writers where I could continue learning and growing. I attended weekly poetry afternoons at Black Crow Grand Central, went to open mics hosted by Keep St. Pete Lit, and began reading for pleasure again.Â
In my second year, I joined Her Campus, eager to write longer pieces and explore creative nonfiction. Even when I feel overwhelmed with academic work, I know creative writing remains an essential part of my life — a part I will continue to nurture, even as I immerse myself in STEM. While I don’t feel the same fiery passion I did when I was younger, I know I’ve fallen in love with writing again, just as I did the very first time.