I should have been born with my fingers permanently glued to a keyboard. From the age of five, I’ve known that I want to be a professional writer: a journalist, a novelist, a modern-day Shakespeare, maybe. Okay, not Shakespeare. Will used to give me terrible headaches back in my freshman year as I tried to figure out what he was talking about in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tragedy of Julius Caesar. Macbeth in my sophomore year was much easier to understand.
Regardless, I’m practically addicted to books, whether I’m reading or writing them. I can’t go a single day without writing something – a short story, a novel chapter, an article – and if I do, I feel a tingling in my fingers, an itch that won’t go away until I sit in front of a computer or pick up a well-sharpened pencil and just let my thoughts out.
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