Since before I could even read, I loved stories. Some of my most vivid memories were of dad telling me stories of his life on the farm, or grandma talking about distant relatives. I used to create lavish worlds and spend hours getting lost in them. Eventually reading became my salvation. I read anything I could get my hands on, regardless of how appropriate it was. I am the bookish girl who can drone on and on about “the Thirteenth Tale” and “Cut” I am the girl who sits, hunched in a corner, momentarily not caring about my depression, social anxiety, or homework. I am the girl who always has an extra book in her backpack, lest I be caught with nothing to read. I am the girl haggard, overworked librarians know not just by name, but by reading preferences. It was the Reading kept me sane through insanity, and company at my loneliest. At one of my darkest points, I fanatically carried “Artemis fowl: The Atlantis Complex” in my bag, because it was one of the few stories left that could make me smile. Of course, ever since I was a child I knew I wanted to be a writer. I know it might not happen, but the least I can do is try. As long as I can provide comfort to other wallflowers, kids in bad situations, and friendless new kids, and know that someday, long after I am gone, someone might read something of mine and be transported into an entirely new world, that’s as much as I can ask.
-Kacey
revise & write 