Source: Pixabay.com
Floating in the air, my great wings motionless, I stared at the darkening sun, praying I would be wrong this time. Surely those parasites from the southern arches wouldn’t dare to travel this far, to earth.
“You have to be wrong, Van,” my best friend Marie said as she peered anxiously at the darkening sun. "Perhaps, it's an eclipse or something."
Only a tiny arch of the sun remained. There was no doubt the parasites have made their way to earth. And we weren’t prepared for the war to come. Earth wasn't equipped to fight this war. Their guns and technology would be useless.
“But I thought they were slow travelers?” Marie asked. “How did they get here so fast?”
I flew to the roof of the tallest building and dropped down, careful to land on my feet and not my wings. I didn’t want my wing scraping the roof and waking the neighbors. The last thing we needed was chaos.
“Our problem isn’t how they got here,” I said, “they are here, and we must deal with them.”
Marie eyed me sharply. “We can’t win this war alone. If we had help, our planet would have survived. We can't make the same mistake here.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “we have to unite Earth somehow, anyhow.”
Marie laughed. “I will like to see you try. Everyone here has their own interest driven by greed, and damn the one who comes between them and their goal.”
I stared grimly at the disappearing sun. “Then we all die.”
A sharp object poked my ribs. I yelped, rubbing the spot, I glared at my seat partner Grace.
“What did you do that for?”
“What is wrong with you?” She jerked her head forward.
I realized then the whole class was unnaturally silent. Heart pounding in trepidation, I turned and faced the teacher.
My teacher leaned her hip against my desk. “Where have you been?”
Saving the earth from the sun eating invaders. Out loud, I replied, “Nowhere.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what did I say last?”
I swallowed, hard.
I’ve always been a daydreamer. When I’m asked how I started writing, I would like to say I was born with the talent. I’ve been writing since I became old enough to hold a pen. When I entered this world, I didn't enter with a cry but with words on my lips.
Wouldn’t that just be the perfect fairy-tale?
But my journey as a writer is the opposite. I don’t see myself as a writer writer. Maybe because it never crossed my mind growing up. I love reading, not writing. I wanted to know and learn everything. I had plans to be an accountant, a footballer, a doctor and a lawyer.
Only me.
Somehow, I stumbled into writing, and like a hungry leech, it caught me, held on fast and still refuses to let go.
I don’t consider myself good enough to be called a writer. Objectively, I study my work and compare it with others and know I'm still at the beginning of my writing journey.
Now, I write because I can’t see myself doing anything else.
Source: Pixabay.com
I’ve always been an introvert, maybe because I'm shy and because I'm a daydreamer.
In my dreams, I have won wars, slain dragons and won the world cup for my country. Not that there’s even a chance we would get to the semifinals, let alone winning the cup. But that's the appeal daydreaming hold for me. In my dreams, I became things I couldn’t be in reality. I did and tasted things, that I would never have in reality. When I needed more ‘material’ I read, a lot. From fantasy novels to thrillers and romance novels, I read them all.
Then I would create my characters, throw them into situations and daydream.
It was a form of escape for me, from the poverty-ridden and hopeless life in my environment at the time. When faced with adverse situations, I would withdraw to daydream.
As a child, it was easy.
As an adult, it became impossible.
After four grueling years in school studying Human Physiology, I had no job. God knows I would have loved to daydream about walking along a river bank and stumbling upon a bag of gold. But a succession of events prevented that. This time I couldn’t afford to daydream. I had to find a job since I had siblings dependent on me.
Then someone told me about a freelance website. I would do things for people and get paid. Among the skills was storytelling. I recalled my daydreams. They could be stories-- if I could find a way to write them down. All my daydreams had depth. Some of the characters began their life from childhood to adulthood, so there was no shortage of materials.
That was how my writing journey began.
So, yes, I began writing for the money. Not for any altruistic reason like making the world a better place. No, I did it for the money. Then I began to enjoy it. When I’ve created a great character, I would wonder what he was thinking, how he would react to certain situations and where he was going? Anything I’m curious about, I place my characters in the middle of it and watch the story unfold.
But I still don’t see myself as a writer writer, you know the type, those who are really, really good at writing they hold your attention from start to finish, they make you cry and laugh, and grit your teeth in anger.
Even though I’m not up to that level, I still think I’ve got potential. Yeah, I might be biased, but I firmly believe so. That’s why I will keep reaching, and that’s why I want to be a part of the creative mastermind that is Sndbox.
I want to be the best writer I can be. I want to be able to call myself a writer with confidence and I want to help people in my community reach out, empower themselves and eradicate poverty. To achieve these, I need more training as a content creator.
The Sndbox Summer Camp aims "to help a few undervalued and deserving minnows to become better Steemians, earn some rewards and make it on this platform." I want this too. Since I joined Steemit, I've had the opportunity to meet great writers and admire their creativity. But I've never had the chance to work closely with and learn from them. Sndbox plans to hand me the platform to work with great people.
I've always been the one to take the high road. Over the years, I've found the easy way is usually ridden with pitfalls, so I appreciate things that challenge me. Sndbox aims to help me create better content through their manual curation. This is where Sndbox comes in as a dragon breathing fire come to save my career. My aim remains to be the best writer I can be so the easy way won't work for me.
In return, they will get my tenacity, hard work and an unwavering determination to succeed.
For my writing style, I never knew I had one until a friend pointed it out recently. She said I don’t write like an African, that my stories seem foreign. That might be because I’ve been influenced by certain authors I’ve read repeatedly. Writers like Linda Howard, Catherine Anderson, David Gemmel, John Grisham and Judith McNaught.
As I matured as a writer, (I hope) I stopped seeing money as the end goal. Now, I try to find the words to recreate the pictures in my imagination and see if I could entertain and touch the lives of my readers in some way.
For every word, page and book I write, I aim to make the next better than the one preceding it.
The goals of Sndbox run parallel to mine. As I have learned while reading and commenting on steemit, they are so many undervalued writers who should be enjoying more of the sunlight. With the help of the Sndbox Summer Camp, I will be able to encourage them even more than I am doing now. I hope I get in and fly.
Thank you
