Dreamer with a pen

This is an essay I did for my english class yet it is also a story.

Dreamer with a pen

In years of growing up I haven’t had so many stories that changed my view on reality.   I have grown up still believing in fairy tales of some sort. When I was growing some kids have a child hood with an imagery friend.  In a strange instant I had a village of friends. A place where escape from sickness and death. I could dream and be happy while the world around me was falling apart. I can still remember names of the characters of who they were.  A piece of a dreamer who day dreams of the future and remembers memories of the past.  Dreamer I was, or shall I die a dreamer?  If any time that has changed my view as a dreamer in writing and day dreams. 

                From the time I moved to Tulsa, 10 years ago.  I would stand and play in the back ground imaging that I was an Indian princess, playing in the mud, leaves, and sometimes on the swings.  My heart always has been touched with a spirit of beating drum I dance like if I was in the Indian ways.  Many Halloweens were spent as an Indian, double braids died black hair and my home made costume.  I had a world of my own a village that filled my head with the idea.  I had a twin sister Callie and a father, who wore the hat of a chief status in the tribe. Callie and I had boyfriends in a different tribe with the names of Ben and Joey. Not very creative but I was only about eight or nine when I created them. Everywhere I went I had a different friend following me. When we were in the car, a friend would be sitting on the top. She would jump from one car to the next trying to keep up, swing from wires to wire and jumping from car to car. I would tell where to go saying things like “that blue car” or “Jump now” and she listened without a second word. I was driving the controls of her. In a few years the friends I have created in my childhood years died away.  It was a turning point in my life. I gave up on the playing as a child to day dreams of a pre-teen. It was then I started my belief of some true fairy tales.  I believe I was the age of fourteen at the time, going into the building with one-way halls and a wall of windows it shows the playground of the elementary across the way as we eat our lunch, taunting us. This time was strange I felt a little bit lonely, yet when you are in eighth grade life can consist of drama, heart break, and school.  As I grew up the day dreams grew with me. As I hit the realm of high school football games, school, and new people to meet. My day dreams showed me a skill that I did not have, to write with no rhyme or beat, free write poetry. The words would flow off my pen it was a way to tell my friends the stories I created in my dreams without spoken words. Now I was a dreamer with a pen. Once I was a dreamer with imagery friends then I was a dreamer with daydreams, now I am a dreamer with a pen.

 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[DaughterNature]

I'm sorry, but this is incredibly difficult to read! I am surprised that you would submit this piece to a contest with so many grammatical errors! In the first paragraph, there are several sentences that aren't complete sentences! You tried to use flowery language, but if you aspire to be a writer, start by knowing how to write! It does you know good to have a huge vocabulary if you can't string words together into coherent thoughts! I had to force myself to finish reading this, I was trying to find something good to say. I guess, yes, imagination is great: it's the bread and butter of what writers do. But your writing style is just so unclear at this point that you need to put in some hard work before this is a story.

[Coyote Poetry]

The imagination is a friend. We will change with life. Each of us is built different. I never needed a lot of people around me to make me happy. I like my books and a few friends. I like the part of being a dreamer with a pen. The dreamer must learn to speak also. Great dreams need to be spread about. A excellent story. Thank you.
Coyote