Writing fiction is not something that comes as natural and smooth as it did in my adolescence. I used to dream up big and picturesque scenes, conjure weird but fascinating dramas, and pour out witty dialogues between characters that would cease to exist after this conversation. It was abnormal how the creativity flowed in, how the ideas just leaked into my mind. I didn't even need to think and plan, they just pop up like snails and worms after a heavy rain. If the Muses really existed, then I'm sure they partied like wild in my silly developing little brain. But now, perhaps the hum drum of reality has gotten into me. What used to be clear and sharp, now remained foggy and confused.
Finding this site is like rediscovering a broken fragment of what used to be your favorite mirror. I'm thrilled and challenged to engage in writing small pieces of whatever again. Two hundred words may seem to be easy and hard at the same time. Easy, to find a place and channel in a piece of your soul. Hard, to confess and reconstruct your feelings and emotions with simple yet precise words. I'll try my best to polish my writing skills.