Grim Weather

I wrote a haiku this morning, while contemplating myself. I spend a lot of time in a melancholy mood, wondering about my place in the world, and my future. Sometimes I feel that I float aimlessly, without purpose.  I believe in God. I believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes the tunnel's just too long, too polluted for me to see further than five feet in front of me. I struggle. I will always try to fight through it, though. In stating that I write, sing, draw, and create solely to represent some higher ideal, I misled you, dear reader. I'm truly a selfish person who does this for myself. Maybe I can reach some other people, help, do something to improve others on the way, and, indeed, share the spirit of Creativity, but this is my remedy, and that is the first reason that I write.  I've spent much of my life dreaming about high ideals. I've been blessed with great examples in my life. I have always harbored a small part of me that is

In my 12th Grade English final a couple months ago, (and yes, it is a weird schedule, but I attended online school, so...) I was asked to write anything that I wanted to, but it had to be well-structured and carried weight behind it. For some reason, I was really bothered by this assignment. I wasn't even sure why. Usually, for an assignment, we'd be confined to some cookie-cutter mold, and this final was actually giving me freedom to express my writing ability in any way that I chose. I soon realized that I was afraid. I was afraid of writing the wrong thing. You see, I don't handle failure well. When life knocks you down, you get back up. Unless you're me. Then you curl up  in a corner and start whimpering like a baby. Being the artistic genius that I am - please note the sarcasm in that - I decided that I'd write about that. I'd write about how, when I pretend to stand back up, I'm really cowering inside. I'm a coward. Well, sometimes. I suppose

It all started when I was eight. I felt it, like a rhino feels the oxpecker bird, guiding it, providing comfort for the brute, commanding control of the situation. I felt a spark. Some may call it Creativity. It spoke to me, showed me images, wove plots and intricacies that a barbaric child such as I was wouldn't understand - at first. Being with Creativity, though, changed me, taught me the intricacies that it created with a mere blink, or a twitch of a finger. It directed me to start writing, and we became good friends, Creativity and I. Due to this fact, or perhaps in spite of it, Creativity kept providing me with stories, and those stories grew in complexity, grew with me, taught me, showed me, until they made me into what I am today - Chandler Currier, Author. Creativity first started with some ideas that I loved at the time, but now only look at and smirk- talking tacos, strange mutants, superheroes that obviously are ripped-off of popular Marvel and DC characters. It d