Unlocking My Love

Welcome back! In the last entry, I had a taste of freelance creative writing, but spat it out because I had lacked the will to acquire the refine flavor of writing. It took a little over half a decade to develop a passion for the craft. During my senior year of high school, I knew I wanted to be a creative, freelance writer with the dream of publishing a novel.

It was a time when computers were beginning to enter into schools. Granted, there were very limited computer games, I was more interested in the word-processing component of the undeveloped digital tool. My mind was brimming with a short story idea, and the passion to write was so strong I was willing to sacrifice my lunch for it.

When the lunch bell rang, I climbed the stairway in my imagination towards the school computer lab, which was located in the library. My lack of developing strong friendships allowed me to sacrifice a midday meal to feed my creativity in peace. I entered the empty room, settled in front of the electronic dinosaur, inserted my floppy disk and surrendered my soul to the clickity-clack of my fingers dancing over the keyboard.

I was a closeted geek at heart (as most high schoolers were) because displaying interest in any type of superhero automatically painted a target of ridicule on your back. Unless you were outside the walls of the educational institution, speaking of comics or fandom was strictly taboo. Yet, I found freedom in my imagination for heroism. Presently, I was obsessed with the trending Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and my second short story reflected this immature love for a secret world I knew absolutely NOTHING about!

Unlike today, I was not interested in researching factual points of the Art of Nijitsu (which is important if you want your story to be believable). I relied on what Eastman and Laird created with their half-shell heroes, accompanied by Hollywood’s outlandish perspective of martial arts. Reflecting on the story today, I can only chuckle at my creation. After all, it was the absurd imagination of a lonely high schooler.

Here is the synopsis of my teenage monstrosity:

The story focused on a teen who was studying Ninjitsu. He had no friends because he was dedicated to learning his art. The high school prom was approaching, and he wanted to impress his love interest in order to ask her to go with him. The day he decided to express pop the question, she was kidnapped by a gang of ruthless ninjas. Her only hope of survival laid in his hands. To complete this quest, he needed weapons, so he visited the local shopping mall to gear up. A new store had opened, and it catered to ninja needs. Fortunately, his connection with the store owner allowed him access to any weapon he required to save his love interest. He promptly acquired ninja stars, katanas, nunchucks, and even a bo, he was prepared to rescue her.

He made his way to their hidden forest hideout and silently took out his adversaries…one. At. A. Time. In true video game fashion, he reached the boss stage, becoming a _mano e mano_. The boss was tougher, much more muscular and scarier than Shredder from TMNT, but he fought ferociously until he was victorious, winning the heart of his prom date.

Yes, it’s absurd and very high school-ish. Furthermore, what mall would have a ninja supply shop? Obviously, I never shared it with anyone. With the evolvement of technology, I eventually lost the copy of the piece (which may be a good thing). My family lacked the resources to purchase a home computer, so I was never able to transfer the story from the floppy disk it was on to an updated storage device.

My time in the computer lab did unlock the hidden passion I never realized I had in me. It was through the development from an oversized, teenage mind, I knew I had to become a writer. My secondary educational years were the start of my creative writing journey, and I wanted support from my family to pursue it. I had become confident enough to share my career goal with my mother when the time came to discuss post-secondary goals.

We were in the car, driving home, when she popped the question I usually dreaded the most. “Have you thought about what you want to do after you graduate?”

“I want to become a writer,” I expressed with confidence. I knew she would be proud of me for having a response. I was not prepared for what actually happened.

Silence dropped between us. Confusion welled up inside me. I felt like I had provided an unexpected answer on the game show Family Feud, forcing the host and the audience to question my response.

After she had processed my reply, she dropped nine words that tore my heart. “No, you need to consider a more stable career.”

My primary career choice became an inflamed cigarette that required the verbal stomp to be extinguished. My personal disappointment in my mother’s lack of faith in my creative endeavor stung. Though I was confident in my skills, I lack the voice strong enough to counter her response. I conceded and shared I would become an educator instead. Sharing my second career choice not only cemented me on a path towards teaching, but also locked away my love for writing once again.

It would not be for another three decades before I would revive it. But…that’s for another story.