When I was a kid, I had a wild imagination. I believed in dragons and adventure and all the magical things most can only see in movies. I definitely believed that butterflies had their own secret agenda, although I didn’t know quite what it was. Perhaps to wage war against the bees? When I was a kid, real life problems existed far, far away, and the fairy tales lived alongside me. My head was always filled with a carousel of pastel-colored memories, both ones I had already made and ones I had yet to, in hopes that by simply believing in something it would come true.

As I grew older, the daydreams of fighting monsters and dancing with fairies slipped to the back of my mind, replaced by math homework and figuring out how to fit in with everyone else. Little by little, my childhood fantasies faded and eventually disappeared altogether. I had lost touch with my sense of adventure, and I wasn’t quite sure how to get it back.

It was around this time when I learned that I was terrible at art, so finding creativity in that way was out of the question. A paintbrush in my hand was about as useless as floaties are to Michael Phelps. I also learned that music wasn’t really my forte either, despite thinking if I put my mind to it I would grow up to be Hannah Montana. Eventually I began writing, everything from adventure to tragedy to news stories. I learned that I could use my words to paint pictures like Picasso, that words could play symphonies if arranged in just the right order.

The fairy tales I believed in as a child came to life once again, but this time I could shape and mold their stories into the ones I wanted them to be. Cinderella could wear vans and purple lipstick, because who would voluntarily wear glass heels? The world became full of endless possibilities; all I had to do was pick up a pen.

In the beginning, I started writing simply as a creative outlet, but I learned that my art can go much deeper. I used it as a coping mechanism, an escape from the “real life” problems that once existed so far away. I found other writers of whom I fell in love with their words, the way they fell perfectly into place. These people had similar ideas and they believed the world worked the same way I did. Throughout the process, I learned many things about myself as well as others, the way people work and why they think the way they do, why I believe the things that I do. I also learned that my words have meaning, that they can impact others in the same way others have helped me. I hope that if anything, my art makes one person feel a little less alone.

I began my life in a fantasy world filled with magical creatures and found my creativity within. I found hope and inspiration and all the good things in between. Despite realizing that fairies might not exist, magic can be found when you find things that resonate within you. I have learned to choose my words carefully, because each one could create a different ending, and in turn learned to write my own story. I know now that I can choose the way my life goes, because I am the author and why wouldn’t I choose an adventure? Because everyone knows dragons and totally more awesome than knights in shining armor, and adventure is way more awesome than normal.