"chicken with purple lips, who was also a jewel thief"
My love for writing has existed since I learned to put pencil to paper. My first story I can remember writing was when I was 5 or 6, based on a writing prompt thought up by my mom. It was about a chicken with purple lips, who was also a jewel thief. I loved my story, and ever since then I have also loved writing.
Ours was a household that was home-schooled and banned from TV. As such, I devoured every book I came across from encyclopedias to Harry Potter to the Bible (which I privately found ridiculous). People often ask young children what they want to be when they grow up. When I would reply "A writer" I could see adults reactions. While pleased with my answer, I still may as well have said I wanted to be a mermaid. Young though I was, I was no fool. I could tell people thought a writing career unlikely although cute, for now.
I suppose other people's opinions grew on me as I got older and I also viewed it as impossible, unattainable, unrealistic. Until recently.
I have decided, fuck whatever other people think. Fuck what I have grown to believe. I am shooting for the unrealistic. I have a story I'm excited to tell. I'm only sad to say it isn't about a chicken jewel thief with purple lips.