Do I Matter?

Ever since I began writing 'The Element Adventures', I've gained two important qualities. The first is sacrosanct self-belief, in both myself and the potential of my writing abilities as a whole, the second is a wild imagination that has gradually bled into reality to become a dream; a dream that I will become famous.

We all dream at one point of reaching celebrity status, but those dreams don't always manifest themselves into desires. Dreams are light, indulgent and whimsical, and like candlelight, they fade and go out with the slightest interference. Desires are different, I've always seen them as primal, carnal and obsessive, true human impulse. It wasn't until about a year ago that I stopped floating amongst dreamy clouds and turned my wishes into endeavours. I realised that I would have to work, harder than I ever had in my life. The series would have to be refined, and it would have to be bigger; much bigger. As for me, I knew I had to strive to be the best. Was it subconsciously because I knew that soon I would start sending off manuscripts and I would have to sell myself as well as the series, meaning that I needed to become interesting? Yes. Because until I really started getting into my stride at school and finding my place amongst friends, I didn't consider myself interesting at all, and I certainly didn't think myself important.

All throughout Year 10, doubt crawled its way into everything I did. I realised that all I was good at was writing, and suddenly I was doubting my abilities in that. In short, I was dealing with the prospect that I would potentially become nothing. Now, thinking about why I have such a desire to have fame and glory is probably rooted into my desire to be something.


When discussing with one of my friends, she said that she would never want fame because of the attention and lack of privacy. When I told her what I wanted, she looked at me as others often do: derisively, sympathising with my naivety. Yet, I don't know if it's ever occured to them that that's what I want. I want to be chased by paparazzi so that I can laugh and run away, I want to be able to play around with this attention, to bask in the idea that I am wanted. My family often ask me why, when faced with problems happening currently, I never go to them, yet once they've been resolved, I tell them without giving them a chance to help. They tell me that they're only a phone call away, but no matter how much I hear it, I just can't believe it's that simple.


Why would they want to hear from me? Why would they want to take times out of their lives to deal with my issues? They're my issues, not theirs, why should I share the burden with them? When I want to, when I really have nowhere else to turn, then I will ask for help, but until then, I want to do it all by myself. I don't need help keeping control of my life, it is solely mine to scramble up and fix.

Maybe this lack of self-importance is what drove me to writing, because in Maegard, I am both nothing and everything. I am the creator of this world, everything revolves around me, and yet I am the invisible hands pulling the strings of characters and settings and events. 

I am Goddess, and I mean something. 

The End

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