Every single Saturday, my brother and I walked out of the library carrying one large canvas bag each, both filled to the brim with stacks of hardcover novels. We knew we probably looked silly with bags almost as big as we were, but it was well worth it for all of the books. Ever since my dad started taking me to the library, books became an extension of my hand. I read as much as I could: while driving in the car, during breakfast, at recess and lunch at school. I devoured books and knowledge from many genres—fantasy, thriller, adventure. I loved the complex plotlines, the relatable characters, and the escape from reality.
The side of the bookshelf we rarely see.
On several occasions, I found myself daydreaming alternate storylines, taking the novel in a different direction than the author originally intended. These “what if” questions lingered in my mind. What if Harry was sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor? What if Bilbo held onto the ring and didn’t give it to Frodo? What if Daisy slowed her car down before running Myrtle over? I loved these books for their plot, but a part of me wondered what it would be like to craft my own story, making my own choices, exploring these possibilities that had gone unexplored. I didn’t have the chance to practice my creative writing skills until Mrs. Palubicki, my middle school language arts teacher, encouraged me to write a novel.
A scene that made me feel very distressed. If one variable was changed, maybe it wouldn’t have ended up this way.
Every lunch period was bliss in November of seventh grade. My friend, Irene, and I found our favorite spot in Mrs. Harris’ classroom, opened our Chromebooks, and got straight to typing away. Over delicious dumplings for lunch, we discussed the plot for our story, the dialogue, the characters, and everything in between. The sound of clacking keys and eager conversations was the perfect background noise for brainstorming. We were writing a 50,000 word novel for the National Novel Writing Month, also known as NanoWriMo.
The number of words we wrote in Indonesian Rupiah (only $3.36 USD as of 9/30/20, if you’re curious).
Channeling our inner Rick Riordan, we combined humor and elements of adventure into one storyline about the “sixth element”. Our novel followed Allen, a sarcastic, daredevil teen faced with the double-faceted challenge of keeping his family safe from sorcerers and learning to control his newfound power over metals. Allen was starkly different from Irene and I—two quiet girls who loved reading and math—but at the same time, he was very similar to us. We all shared a passion for discovery and risk taking, which was reflected in his decisions and actions throughout our novel. Surprisingly, through writing a fantasy story with imaginary characters, I learned a lot about myself.
Rick Riordan: an author whose books provided inspiration for our story.
Over the course of this month, I began to understand how reading pushed me to grow, to be able to understand and empathize with perspectives I’ve never experienced before. As Irene and I pulled on the styles and phrases from our favorite novels, I began to see diverse experiences shine through our story. Neither of us travelled to Africa before, or to anywhere with a desert climate, but we still conveyed the minute details through our characters: the way their throats were parched and how sand slipped into their laced up leather boots. Neither of us had powerful abilities to keep in check, but our characters did, and along with that came their associated emotions and internal struggles. I realized that reading builds paths between places and time, connecting the reader with authors with whom they have never crossed paths.