As a little kid, I used to write stories for my family as gifts. Considering I was seven and didn’t understand grammar or what a “plot” was, I highly doubt it was a better gift than a new bike or a gift card, but to me, that’s what a story was: a gift. 

Soon, however, I entered the world of essays and papers, and writing began to lose its charm. Writing meant analyzing passages from a book I wasn’t interested in and having to follow an extremely specific format. Writing became something I had to do rather than something I wanted to do.

Just when I was about to give up all hope of ever loving writing as much as I did when I was younger, I signed up for Creative Writing.

Simply put, Creative Writing is freedom. There are no formats or rubrics to follow to a T; the only limits are my creativity and a word count. As long as I write something following the prompt, I have complete control over the characters and plot. I could write a wedding or a murder, a dragon or a cardboard box.

I probably won’t write stories as gifts anymore, mostly because my ego isn’t massive. But for me, Creative Writing has become a gift to myself, somewhere I can explore my creativity and slowly begin to make writing fun again. Thank you Creative Writing!