I've been writing since the fifth grade, when a very pushy teacher forced us to sit down for an hour every few days and describe something that had happened to us in our lifetimes. Rough draft, final draft, that one draft I threw out because the handwriting was so bad; to a large group of eleven-year-olds, it felt like a punishment.
At school, I complained right alongside everyone else. At home, however, I would write just because I felt like it - about everything you can imagine. I had my story ideas set aside before she had even told us that it was time for a new one.
Nowadays, I've noticed that I haven't been writing as much as I usually would. I've lost nearly all of my work due to computer reboots and demolished papers, and I suppose I've lost a little bit of my morale right along with all of it. During my senior year of high school, I was a part of the school newspaper (recruited by the teacher), and I didn't exactly get my work in on time (or...practically ever). In fact, I'm fairly certain the editors hated me. The few things that I did do, though, I appreciated a lot. I'm certain I wasn't a terrible writer, merely a terrible worker. Don't tell my parents.
I've always began stories and never gotten anywhere with them. I'm not a planner, and I suppose that's a big part of my problem. I need to map out brainstorms and decide where I want to go with what I'm creating, but I either lack the patience or the attention span (probably both). I tend to just sit down and let a random thought flow into something larger, never going beyond a few pages.
Anyway, I'm not sure exactly where I'm heading (thought-wise) tonight. I'm just acting as my usual self - allowing things to flow, to end where they may. My thoughts aren't very controlled, are they? I'm certain I've gone in a million different directions here.
Maybe I haven't. A lot of times, I'll feel this way, but when I go back to re-read, it flows much better than I ever would have thought. Hopefully this is one of those situations. (End?)