I can’t really describe the process behind this book. Not because I don’t know the words to explain how I pasted pictures and colorful paper to thin sheets of loose leaf. Not because I can’t find the continents and vowels that make up “I wrote a story and went with it”. It’s because I myself am unsure how I got from point A to point B. The story just happened. I don’t want to say it’s because I have some natural talent or even because I’m creative. I think the story was always going to happen and I just happened to be the one who wrote it down. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love it- because I do. I don’t know if I would call myself an artist. I don’t think I know what motivates an artist to create art. But what motivated me to write was the same thing that motivates me to get up in the morning- Life. I wrote, not fearing the impression of a sad story or the thought of people picking up my book only to shove it back down. I write because it is what defines me, even if I wish it didn’t. Sometimes my stories are bleak and other times they ring with cheerful laughter’s and Cheshire cat grins. That’s only a reflection of who I am and the life I led. So what this experience meant to me was a chance- even for a moment- to express without editing or pressure, all the things that make up who we all are. Happy, sad, beautiful moments wrapped up in giggles and sad times never far behind.
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