A little bit of fiction, to kick off 31 days of writing. My 500 Words is a challenge created by Jeff Goins. It’s intended to inspire daily writing habits among writers in all stages.
Chapter 1: The Girl With The Purple Pen
It’s a nickname unheard of among most college students. I accepted it. It was in no way offensive. In fact, I take it as a compliment. I am indeed the girl with the purple pen. Like most names, there is a story behind it. My favorite color is purple. My real name is Brittney. However, most people call me Brit. Naturally, I feel inclined to pen my thoughts with this seemingly majestic ink. Few students in my field have such a strange fetish. However, nothing motivates me quite so much as the flow of fresh ink across a Moleskine journal–another leisure I sometimes indulge myself in.
I’m a communications major. Journalism and Media Production, to be more specific, is my area of expertise. A dying art. Pursued by few.The internet has already occupied the jobs of more than a few journalists. Even fewer who pursue it are successful. I’m considering a minor in professional writing. You know, something I can do outside of my 8am-5pm job. A hobby that could possible help with the student loans I will inherit once I’m on my feet. My goal is to pay them off before I presumably get married, have children, all that jazz.
In the summer of 2012, I found myself in Port-au-Prince Haiti. A location desired by few high school students. It was there, I knew I wanted to write. I shared my experiences via a blog and was told “hey, you’re not half bad at this.” My travels were really a turning point. Kake, Alaska, Tijuana, Mexico, and Port-Au-Prince Haiti make for some pretty exciting adventures. They aren’t your typical vacationing spots. But I wasn’t there on vacation. All three times I was there for relief work. This purpose opened my eyes to instance I like to call “beauty in the broken” experiences.
In Haiti, I first became aware of beauty in the broken. Life in death. Joy in the most depressing of places. Sweet music in streets filled with political riots. Hope in a land wrecked with economic strife, uncertainty, and violence. I’ve found that most people don’t understand to the full extent what I’m trying to say, where I’m going with all of this. Third world countries open your eyes to things which we are otherwise blind to in filthy rich America. Believe it or not, being well off has it’s downsides.
Anyhow, in Mexico and Haiti, I kept a consistent journal. Not your typical entries i.e. “This morning I woke up and had Cheerios for breakfast.” Not that there is anything wrong with this information. In fact, it’s where I started out. I’d like to think I’ve made progress since then, but I some days are less exciting than others, and that’s OK. Many new writers are discouraged by this. I’ve been trying to emphasize to my friends and family that it’s not about what you write, it’s just important you write at all. Even those who right for a living didn’t wake up one day knowing they were going to write a bestseller.
I’ve been writing for quite a while. I tried my hand in the field as early as elementary school with the typical “dear diary” entries. Didn’t we all? Some of us develop a habit, of it, others don’t.
**About The Roommates**
They’re an odd bunch, but not too Crazy. Emily is up there with the STEM people. In other words, her major is math related and there are times when I wonder if she’s related to Einstein. She’s not so math oriented that I can’t hold a conversation without her going on about how much she loves functions. She’s human, and for that I’m grateful. I’m not quite sure how I got paired up with her. The math, the thinking, I just don’t get it. We have a deal. I’ll help her with words if she’ll help me with my poor technology skills. Thus far, the arrangement has worked out pretty well.
Lizzy is down to earth. She’s part of the Communications College like me. We have a couple prerequisites together this quarter. You might say she’s my study buddy. We may not see eye to eye on everything, but our one common thread is this: we all love what we do and we want to do it well. That’s good enough for me. I’m not gonna lie, I’d heard enough horror stories about bad roommates, that I’d nearly given myself a complex waiting to hear back after submitting my housing application. So, I was relieved to hear that in spite of my awkward tendencies, I’d been placed with people who won’t judge me.
Welcome to my crazy life. I hope you enjoy the ride.