Do you remember the first story you ever made up? I'm not talking about the first story you ever wrote. I'm talking about the one you remember at the very dark edges of your memories, the frayed inklings of a story that flutters. The one that's so far gone into your history that you have to really try hard to remember what the hell it was, as an adult. Of course, I'm assuming you're a writer, or some sort of a creative. But regardless, I think everybody creates as kids. That's how we learn, mimicking life we see around us. Boys wanting to be like dad mostly, and girls pretending they are mum. Or, making up some silly "once upon a story..." starts to your very own fairy tales, complete with dismembered or half naked dolls, who could do with a bath—a serious bath—and a proper meal (you can tell I'm not into dolls, right? But that's a story for another time).
Creative Writing. That's something, isn't it? To create. To write. But no, put the two together and you have creative writing, something that you make up. Bullshit your way through, if you will. Ironic in a way when we are usually brought up with the ideology that lying, and 'making things up' is bad. Very bad. Punishable by, well, punishments. To each their own.
This is my first post here. To be honest, I don't even know why I'm here, or what I'm doing, or what I'm supposed to do. This is me, being me, as raw as I can be. Do you ever feel like you can't truly be you, ever? I mean, in this world of over-saturation of media, both produced by companies and individuals. With YouTube, and Twitter, and Blogs, and Insta, and a tone of other things... too many, if you ask me. How are we meant to keep up with that? We possibly can't. Right?