When I was a child sitting in a library, it felt like the world was at my fingertips. I would read through books in mere hours, only to crave the feeling that the next adventure might bring. But one adventure that always stuck with me (and is still my favorite to this day) was "Eragon" by Christopher Paolini. This leap into a fantasy of fierce dragon riders, strong rebel forces fighting for freedom, and true names that held power was the best decision I had ever made. It's one of the most profound stepping stones in my journey to becoming a fantasy writer myself. I couldn't deny that I was absolutely enthralled by the world Paolini had written into existence. I wanted to know all about the dragons, where they came from, and why they stayed. I wanted to learn about the kind of city Arya grew up in. I wanted to know every seemingly minute detail that I could about this world because I had fallen in love with it. Eragon was a character that I could relate to, not because I had a dragon and was friends with an elf--but because I had also felt weak under the thumb of others. I wanted to persevere as he did, even against impossible odds. Odds that made things in my life seem simple. But nevertheless, he persisted and so did I.

Creative writing is a way for me to use the furnace of my soul to bring forth substance into this world. It's far too often that people like me don't get a chance to speak and truly be heard. With my privilege that allows me to get an education, I want to be heard. I want to tell my stories. I want to forge a path for others like me, to prove to them that if I can do it, so can they. It is with the written word--through expression--that these fits of anger, these gruesome heartaches, these celebrations of community, of the individual, can be truly recognized. The burden of empathy can be shared with others through another world, far from our own, to make its message easier to hear. The gilding of language can speak beyond the barriers of the mind and open people up to perspectives they never considered. These are the reasons writing is important to me. It's not only something that I enjoy, but it's something that fills me with purpose. Who I am couldn't exist without creation, without expression. To borrow from Wordsworth--without this art form, the world would be too much with me. The idea of sitting back and letting life pass me by without ever once taking up the mantle of Vulcan's flame would leave me undone. I would be left to become the dust that settles in his shop; Stranded until the day that I, too, get swept up in his fits of passion. For in this world of blood and stone, what more can be wanted of me? Take the flowing of my words straight from my veins. I will open up my ribs to you so you can hear the poetry of an artist's heart. Oh, how the pain becomes music. The pulsing beat curves itself around my hands as it takes a pen to paper to unveil its song, "Know all that I am. I am shared with all, regardless of skin, creed, or love. The fire that drives me forward is as divine as those above. As long as you can feel, I am alive."