Introducing… Chickedydoodah!

That is quite easily the silliest screen-name I’ve ever used. I like it.

I thought I’d share a little bit about myself with you guys, my (future) fans! My name is Samantha, but I go by Sam or Sami most of the time. I live with my mom and step-dad most of the time, along with my sister (16), and my two half-siblings, Max (3), and Penny (5 months). The rest of the time, I live with my dad. I have a step-brother who is presently in college and whose whereabouts I don’t know. I’m sure there are plenty of people in my family who do know, but I don’t.

So, I call this blog “writerchickedy” for a reason, right? I want to be a writer. The first thing I wrote and illustrated was called “Win dols came to lyf” (or something to that effect), and that apparently means “When Dolls Come to Life”. The rest of the book was pictures: There was a teddy bear sitting on the ground, and a fairy came down to it and touched it with its wand, which caused the bear to stand up. I think that was it.

Anyway, I kept writing after that. I had a dream in third grade which sparked a rather epic but pointless thirty pages of nonsense and gags, and then in fifth grade, when I met my Best Friend, I wrote a rather compelling fantasy-adventure story (that, admittedly, never lead anywhere and didn’t really have a plot) about a girl with a dragon and two friends, who she fought evil with. I don’t know what the evil forces working against her were, but they were very evil.

Also in fifth grade, I wrote a series of short stories about a fox/journalist who interviewed characters from various children’s tales, including “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” and “The Three Little Pigs”. I actually still have the “Three Little Pigs” original copy, and the illustrations that went with it. My drawing ability seems to have more or less stayed the same since then.

The summer after fifth grade was filled with my first foyer into character development; it was during those short months before middle school that my friends and I came up with the most interesting set of characters to ever grace the imaginary Earth we’d created for them: two ships of pirates, one “good” and one “bad”; no further classifications were necessary at the time. We came up with a borderline-brilliant plot, which consisted mostly of gag comedy and stark little real story.

Sixth grade was a year of little real writing, because that was the year that I discovered the pseudo-genre of FanFiction. I became engulfed in the world of anime and manga and I don’t think I could see my way out; I was drowning blissfully in a stagnant sea of mediocrity and no personal development.

This continued through seventh grade, except for one difference: in seventh grade, we had a fictional narrative assignment. We had to write a short story in 5 pages or less, double-spaced. I had a rather amazing time with this project, cleverly putting the “Earwig” font to good use. My mom and I abused customizable line-spacing, putting it at 1.8 because I couldn’t keep it double-spaced and under 5 pages. I got a great grade and lots of positive comments on this project. That was basically the only thing I did right that year, but that’s okay, because I’m still proud of it.

Eighth grade managed to slowly see me out of my FanFiction phase, which I am very glad about. That was the year that I rekindled my love for real books. Even though a good portion of them were fifth grade-level reading (eighth grade was when I finally read the “Percy Jackson” series), I actually managed to grow a lot as a reader and writer and person that year, and for that, I am immensely proud.

Ninth grade has been ups and downs. I’ve had the worst and best English teacher of my life; he’s the best because he’s really nice and he’s easy to talk to, but he’s the worst because… I’ll put it like this: We spent the first semester on the persuasive unit, and that alone. He doesn’t really “teach” well, but I think I’ve managed to grow a lot because of that class. Public speaking has also been a great influence, mostly because of the people I’ve met. That class seems to bring together students of all grades and ages, all walks of life, all sorts of different backgrounds and upbringings and hidden talents. I’ve met one of the most amazing artists I’ll ever meet in that class, along with some talented musicians, and some incredibly inspirational people with pretty amazing stories behind them. I also joined band again, after a one-year hiatus during eighth grade (horrible mistake, by the way), and I’ve made some pretty awesome friends.

However, as I look through my documents folder on my computer (which I desperately need to back up onto a hard-drive or onto GoogleDocs), I find a dismal wall of school assignments–speech outlines, bibliographies, dialectical journals, science projects… I should be happy, because I’m finally getting just a tiny bit more studious, after all of those awful middle school years of barely passing. Somehow, though, I’m not happy. I want to write. Y’know, real-write. I want to write stories and books and articles and wonderful things that will make people really happy, things that might inspire people.

I love writing, but above all, I love art. I love music, and paintings, and drawings, and plays, and I love poetry and thought and sound and emotion. I really just love passion. I want everyone to experience passion. I want everyone to feel that sudden burst of energy and excitement, that purposefulness, the realization that they need to do this. I feel it as soon as my fingers hit the keys. When I pull out my journal from my purse and crack open my pencil case, I feel like there’s a reason for me to stay awake. I write when I’m bored, and often that’s all I’ll write–“I’m bored.” That’s enough, though. I’ve filled up pages of intimidating emptiness with that so-called “boredom”, and I’ve fought through it and reaped the benefits. I know I can write and do something with it. I want my passion to go somewhere with me. I want to “do what I love and the money will come”, like my step-dad always says. I want to live off of my own bliss.

There are a lot of things that I love to do. I love to shop, and I love to sing and play the flute, and I love to jump and ride my bike and eat and pet kittens and watch movies and read and play Pokemon and stay up late on Spring break nights, but there is nothing that has comforted me as many times and as well as writing.

This is what I’m here for.


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