Application Essay Draft One.



I have always had a hard time calling myself a writer. I suppose I think it's too professional, too formal for me. Though I’ve been a storyteller as long as I can remember. Imagination running wild, it was only a few years ago that I began to manage to transcribe the thoughts into words on paper.
These days I'm becoming more and more comfortable in my writer's skin. Stretching my limbs more often, seeing what I can do. Although typically I call myself a fiction writer, I have recently been working with things such as a blog, an interesting new medium. As well as odd internal monologues that are still full of an onslaught of errors.
I guess I am just testing the many, many different waters. Surely once I go away to school I will have a hundred different things to work with, poetry, nonfiction, and of course, essays. Though some days this worries me, the more I write, the more I begin to hear, ‘I think I can’ in the back of my mind.
I know there are people that do, and would think, that I just may be crazy for trying to go to college for writing. For many reasons, one certainly is the competition. I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t make me nervous, because it does. At the same time, I would be lying to myself, and everyone else, if I walked into a brand new school with the idea that I was the best of the best. I know that I’m not, but what would be the point of applying to colleges if I was?
Enter, Plan B. Create a tree house hotel. Each guest "room" would be a tree house. Acres of tree houses, all with their own lights and running water. Each house made in various styles and different levels, multiple rooms. The only catch of course is that I have yet to see a tree house with enough power and water supply for a bathroom.
But I digress...
Everyone always says, "Oh, so then are you going to teach English?"
No. No, if I wanted to teach I'd go into an English and teaching program. I don't want to teach. I want to do. I want to spend the rest of my life writing. I want to do something that makes me happy and makes me feel smart and accomplished. Besides, I have found that I can't not write. I am always writing something, be it in the margins of my papers, one the half dozen notebooks I carry with me, or simply in my head. So why would I waste my time pretending to want to do something else?
As for truly being a "writer" I suppose that definition is in the eye of the beholder. But as far as I am concerned, I still have plenty of time to define my title.


(This is an altered/edited version of my July 29th post. Being a "writer")

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