I used to think being a teen writer was the best thing ever. I remember feeling a desire to be one forever. How delusional of me, huh?
While I love writing and hope to write for the rest of my life, I’m looking forward to being an adult writer.
After all, I spent most of my time as a teenager telling stories.
I started writing when I was about thirteen or fourteen, right around my early teens.
I’ve been writing for the past six or so years. Time flies.
I still can’t believe I turned twenty today.
Being a teen is tough enough as it is. I’d argue being a teen writer is even tougher.
Not only are you finding yourself and figuring out who you are as a human, you’re also doing the same as a writer.
I’ve learned a little every time I faced the blank page.
I wrote stories and poems last year. I’m currently transcribing them. Even with my critical eye, I can see my gradual improvement. I’m constantly taken aback by how far I’ve come in just a few months, much less several years.
I’ll miss the opportunities afforded to teen writers. I’m not eligible for a lot of things now that I’m officially twenty.
Even though I got into writing earlier than most, I wish I had applied to more contests and competitions for teens.
Still, it’s been a great journey. I’m quite happy, pleased even with where I am right now.
Overall, I accomplished more than I thought I would as a teenager.
I’m not too sure what’s next for me. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, which is the one thing that both excites and terrifies me about being a young writer.
I hope being a grown up adult will be everything I hope for. Am I being greedy? Is that too much to ask for?
Fortunately, I’ve had these past four summer months to reflect on my past and contemplate my future.
I want nothing more than to keep telling stories and writing words. I invite you to do the same, regardless of whether you’re a teen writer or a seasoned veteran.
Age is just a number anyway.