Writing. It's a magic beyond all others -- at least for me, it is. And trust me, being a die-hard Potterhead (major Harry Potter fan), I know magic, and I know it well.
I'm inarticulate; I stutter sometimes and I trip over words. I talk many times too fast. Most things I say come out sounding completely wrong, and not at all how I meant them to. I end up sounding like a bumbling idiot. But this only makes writing more magical.
When I write, the words just flow from my fingertips to the computer, or from my pen onto the paper. A paper containing my messy scrawl that I use for writing that only I need to read, filled with cross-outs, arrows, asterisks, notes in the margins --seeing that gives me a wonderful feeling.
I'm never the best at anything. In school, I generally get high nineties or hundreds, but there's always someone who's better than me. In sports . . . forget about it, I'm terrible. In music, I've been told I'm talented, and I know I am. But there's always somebody in Wind Ensemble who one-ups me. I'm pretty good at art, but my drawings are nothing special, merely a result of following directions and of shading coming easy to me.
In writing, I know I'm not anywhere near the best, but the thing is, I don't feel the need to be the best. I have been told I have a gift at writing, and maybe I do, maybe I don't. But for the first time in my life, I don't care. I love writing. It's my one and only passion.
I feel like this is what I was made to do. A pen in my hand feels like a wand in Harry Potter's. Writing is to me what wizardry is to Harry Potter. It's something that feels natural for us. If you're a Potter fan, you'll understand right away what I mean. If you're not, I think you still should be able to understand with whatever basic knowledge you have of the series.
I'm not a very ambitious person. My father doesn't hesitate to point that out. He lectures me about how I'll need to get involved in something in high school next year. I think I'll get involved in music -- it's also magic. In the words of J.K. Rowling through Albus Dumbledore: "Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here. [Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry]" Sure, I have a talent for music. I love it, too, but it's not as magical for me as writing.
Now, I must point out a bit of irony: Here I am, talking, in a way, about my writing abilities, when that last paragraph does not fit in this article at all, and yet, I don't want to remove it. It may be the difference between this article making it in the Times or not. But I like it, even if it breaks the flow. (Plus, it's currently 1:52 AM and I am frankly too lazy to fix it, since I don't want to get rid of it.) That's another thing I love about writing: I get to do what I want, with nobody to tell me otherwise. I get to write this however I desire. It can be as long or as short as I like. It can have days spent editing it or only a quick read-through, or even no editing at all. (In this case, it's none at all. Maybe a quick read-through. That's a weakness of my writing; I almost never check my work over. It's not an admirable trait in a writer.) It's pure freedom. It's wonderful.
One last thing before I submit this messy article and fall asleep: one of the best things about writing is that it takes me to a whole different world. I just wrote an article just before this one that may or may not make it into the Times, and I started at about 11:45 PM. By the time I was done, it felt like I had been writing for a few minutes. I checked the clock, and it was 12:50 AM. All that time had passed in what only seemed like a few minutes. And in that time, nothing else existed in the world. Not my crushes, not my insignificant fourteen-year-old girl problems, nothing. Just writing. It's bliss. True bliss. And now, it's 2:01 AM exactly. I must have started this a little after 1:00 AM. Once again, the time has passed in seemingly no time at all. It's honestly magic.
Now, looking back at this article, I realize that it's some of my worst work. It doesn't flow well at all, and the chances of it making it into the Times are slim. It's most likely strewn with typos that are a result of the combination of being half-asleep and of typing on an iPod touch. But I really like the message of this article, and so I'll submit it. If it doesn't make it, I'll edit it and resubmit it. I don't mind my mistakes, though. I'll learn from them, and become better at what I love. The better I get, the more magical writing will be. And now, I must leave.
I hope you, whoever is reading this, have discovered something that's as magical for them as writing is for me. If you haven't, keep looking. I promise it's out there. If you're not sure, then it's probably not. You'll know it when you see -- well, do -- it.
I'm off to bed now. Goodnight, good evening, good afternoon, or good morning, depending on when you read his.
Goodbye,
-Cassidy AKA cass402
