Emilino Emloile’s love for writing:


I love to write.  A long time ago, when I was too little to write complete sentences and spent time in school learning the alphabet, I kept a small Winnie the Pooh notebook.  In this notebook, I scribbled page after page of complete nonsense – wobbly lines and repeats of whatever letter I could think of.  It was the idea that counted; I loved the feel of putting my pen to paper and “writing.”  I dragged my Winnie the Pooh notebook around with me and busied myself with imitating cursive as best I could.  My mom wrote with cursive.  My grandma wrote with cursive.  Lots of grown-ups wrote with cursive handwriting, and because it looked so pretty, I tried to write with cursive, too. I bounced my pen across the page with ink-stained fingertips, adding elegant loops here and there for emphasis.  I had no idea why there were loops or why people wrote with cursive or how, even, to read cursive, but I tried it anyway because I liked the idea of writing something of my own, something I could return to, something I could add to.

My love of writing stories began in fifth grade.  Before that, it seemed I was no good at writing at all.  But my first writing assignment of fifth grade proved this idea to be wrong.  Suddenly, I could write; suddenly, words flowed from my fingers like something natural, something sweet.  It was the closest I’ve gotten, perhaps, to love at first sight.  After that, I didn’t stop writing.  It was a way to pour my beating heart onto paper.  My imagination came alive into so many stories, so many people, so many more hearts than mine.  I fell in love with my creations; I breathed life into them and pumped blood through their veins, and oh, the love was strong.  The love was intoxicating.  I thought about my characters at night as I fell asleep; I dreamed of my characters as I slept; my characters followed me throughout my days.  They were me, in some sense, in disguise.  Those lives were mine.  When I combined my heart, imagination, pen and paper, they were what came alive.

Now, I write every day.  I can’t go to sleep if I haven’t written down my thoughts and my memories and my dreams.  Days, so often, seem to be overlooked.  Each day is a time in a life; each day is a chance; each day is a lifetime.  I must, I must, record those chances and those lifetimes.  They make up who I am.  Sometimes I stay up late because I am writing.  I argue with my mother.  “You need sleep,” my mom tells me.  “I have to write,” I tell her, but can she see?  She doesn’t write with a passion like mine.  Perhaps I should get more sleep.  Perhaps I should put down my pen and my journal and save the thoughts for later.  But there is something about those thoughts; they are so raw, so alive, so full of life, and yet they are so forgettable.  When they float around in my mind, they drift into my subconscious and they go to a place of no return.  Quick, I think to myself, I have to trap them before they can escape.  I have to grasp them and put them onto paper, or else I won’t remember.

Life is too fragile to forget.  Life is too meaningful to let adrift.  Quick, I tell the world, you have to trap it before it can escape.



15 thoughts on “About

  1. So very true, and it depresses me sometimes. I have written diaries for 26 years of my life, and it’s unlikely they will leave a lasting impression on anyone. The ink will fade first, and my blog will get deleted. Anyway, I like your post, it is what I feel.

      1. Emily!!! I don’t know if you still remember me, but we used to be really good friends on quizlet. I was (am) YellaSplitzer287. I have re-read all of your stories so many times! I love them soo much. But, the work you do on here is simply incredible. I ❤ u!!!

  2. amazing 🙂 I write too and I like writing but I am not that consistent. I am trying to, by starting my blog. Maybe this will interest you:
    I am going to explore your blog some more. Just keep writing. 🙂

  3. I think it’s amazing that you are in Jr High (?) and I am a 40 year old woman, and your writing about being infatuated with someone is exactly like mine… I’m surprised that as old as I am, it doesn’t change… I’m just as vulnerable and mental about my beloved person as ever… and I love your writing and I can relate to it. Thanks for sharing. I know you’ll keep writing, I’m like you… I’ll never stop.

  4. I did that exact same thin when I was little!! pretend to write in cursive, whenI couldn’t think of anything to write, I would just scribble. If an idea for the next part in a story, or a perfect ending for something I was writing for school, I get up, scramble for a pencil, and write it down as fast as I can. I love you so much!!!!

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