My Love for Writing+Extracts

I can’t say when exactly I realized that writing is an important part of my life; even more than that, I have to admit. I have always been a girl who was overthinking. Overthinking itself (depending on what about) is not exactly pleasant. Sometimes, overthinking tricks your mind and makes you forget the essential. You lose your neutral and objective point of view. For some situations in life, that is bad and exhausting, since you constantly have to remind yourself not to let yourself fall into the world of thoughts and overanalyze everything (not in every situation in life, of course, but with certain topics). But when I write, my weakness becomes a strength and I realize that overthinking makes my stories more emotional. It helps me to let go of all sorts of emotions that lie deep within the dustiest corners of my heart and see them from different points of view. So I would say that every weakness has its advantage. Also, even if overthinking (and I can proudly say that) is an important part of getting my work done properly, I would also say that acting is just as important. I wouldn’t claim of myself to be an actor, one that performs with facial expressions or tempo rhythm, or Brechtian or Aurtaudian methods (yes, I have learned all of these fancy words here at Hurtwood). No. The acting happens in my head. I have to let go of my emotions and my feeling towards situations and focus only on my character, to understand their thinking and living in my story. Sounds strange? It is. In a good way. I sometimes catch myself throughout my writing process, crying and cursing under my breath, I have to admit (I am quite a sensitive person), because of that. Because I feel as if I am in the situation of my character. Maybe that is what makes it so much fun and addictive even. It feels like every time I write, I get thrown into another world. I am able to lose myself in the process of writing in the most beautiful way. And even though I focus only on the point of view of my characters, every story has something personal to it. Whether it is my favorite number that always appears, or the annoying habits that I have, my music taste and many other „little“ things, it helps me to connect with the character more for me - and also adds some personal charm to it.


So here are some extracts of my writing: I hope you enjoy them.



Image taken by an Ex Hurtwood student



Extract 1


The raindrops that pounded loudly like pebbles in my ears drowned out the wild, uneven throbbing of my heart. The insatiable green on the ground greedily absorbed the wetness the sky offered and soaked my socks. Made my feet get disgustingly cold and yet I did not seem to care. Normally, I would have run home as fast as I could, with my half-wet denim jacket as rain cover, and I could havehardly waited to take a hot bath and wash the sultry autumn air from my body, which was so oppressive of dew, leaves and withered flowers, but I stayed still. Minutes for minutes, leaving the scent I hated so much to settle more and more on my skin. And while I held his hand, the world around me suddenly seemed to stop and not even the thunder made me startle. I wanted to tell him why I had been away for a whole year, why I did not answer his letters, didn't even dare to open most of them.I really wanted to, but as his fingers filled the gaps between mine, I forgot everything. I forgot that I had lied to him, that I had broken his heart, that I had rejected his gentle words over and over again - and that I had suppressed the throbbing of my heart. But one thing I could not forget, because I could not understand it ... how could he forgive me so easily? How could he overlook my mistakes? How could he stand here, in the rain, in the thunder, in the fall - and hold my hand? My unworthy, lying hand. And ... how dare I hold his?


I looked into his face, where nothing but fondness and relief was to be found. His eyes, which had a small shimmer that only I could see, a secret that was meant only for me. And when he smiled at me, my whole world turned upside down.


Was it love?


Extract 2 (The next „Story“ is a chapter from a Spin-off that I have written)


Hours had passed since the sun decided to hide behind the moon and the night darkened the streets... but I was still there. I was still standing in front of the basket. My hands slightly shaking, caused by the coldness. I wouldn't go home. I wouldn't go home. Maybe I could just run away forever, or I could make it a lot easier and just kill myself. But I wasn't that much of a coward. That was one of the few things I could claim about myself. Maybe I had already given up on everything. My future, a better life, possibilities, but whenever there was some shit going on in my life, I always faced it. I didn't know for how long I would stay away from home, but there was no way, I would return today. Probably I would get beaten up even more, if Dad found out, I just wanted to stay away from home, which was the reason I texted Mum and told her I was staying at a friend's house. Lying was nothing unfamiliar anymore. I lied a lot. I lied all the time. It was the only way to protect the pride I still had. The only way to protect myself. Physically and mentally. Whenever I didn't know where to sleep, I slept right here. At the Basketball court. Mostly in summer time, cause it was much warmer than in autumn. I always tried to avoid fights with my dad during cold weather, because I knew otherwise I'd have to sleep outside, but this time I couldn't. I hardly knew if I ever could again. Everytime his face appeard behind my eyes, I got furious and wanted to walk up to him and kill him for everything he had done to me and my mum. He had destroyed us. He had broken us apart.

My phone started to vibrate in my pocket. Arnold. Why would this idiot text me? He did it alike. He did the same shit... Not exactly the way my dad did it. Less abusive and aggressive, but hell, it hurt just as much.


Arnold: How do I get a White Girl to like me?


Asshole... I didn't have the time to deal with his White Problems... Asshole... I should Show him, what I thought of him, so I did. I sent him the exact Definition of what I was secretly calling him. An ass. Literally. The thought of him looking at that Picture in front of his White friends made me grin, but not enough to distract me from the struggle I had to face right now. I usually slept on the ground, but that would be too cold and since I forgot to take my blanket, it would be impossible to even consider it. I looked around. My eyes searching for something, that would let me survive this night, when I stopped and headed to the bench, which was near a tree. The leaves were withered and had no color. I could see that thanks to the dim streetlights. The whole surrounding  seemed to adjust to my emotions. To my life. I layed down, covering my cold body with my cold jacket, closing my eyes and imagining how warm it would have been, if I had stayed home. Painful. No doubt. But warm.


Extract 3


I blinked a few times to accostume my eyes to the dazzling kitchen light. I didn't know how late it was, but I knew I could barely think straight in my stage of tiredness and that was enough to know. I stood up on my tip toes to reach the upper shelf and grab a Cup, filling it with cold water afterwards to satisfy my dry throat with the eagerly awaited wetness. I wanted to head back to my room, when suddenly I saw the shape of a Boy outside at the Basketball court through the window. I dared to look twice, thinking that maybe my eyes were just as tired as I was, playing tricks on me. What Boy would sleep on the bench without a blanket, while it was freezing outside, right? But my eyes weren't deceiving me and as much as I knew, it was the same dark-brown haired guy, I met earlier. Why would he sleep there??? It was cold! He could get really sick! It was dangerous! I cursed myself for Walking outside, the Moment the cold wind hit me bluntly in the face, fully waking me up.

"Hey! You!" I yelled while walking up to him. He made an annoyed sound. "What are you doing here?" He looked at me tiredly. "That's none of your business." I rolled my eyes. "Is that the only sentence you're able to say?" It was his turn to roll his eyes and then close them again. "Why are you sleeping here?" - "Leave me alone! I don't need a damn watchdog." I sighed. "You don't need to tell me why, but what you're doing is dangerous!" - "Thanks, I knew that already." - "Why would you do it then?" - "Fuck off!" - "Don't take this wrong, but now that I've seen you, I can't ignore it anymore and it is my business. I don't want to feel guilty if anything happens to you, so... My house is right there. You could sleep on the couch for tonight." He laughed and turned away from me indifferently. "Just... You can't just sleep on the bench!" - "Having a bad conscience afterwards is your problem and besides, I can do whatever I want and I want to sleep here, so leave. Now." His voice sounded somehow threatening, sending goosebumps down my spine. He was scaring, but also I felt sorry for him. He looked exhausted and tired and he had bruises all over his face... I wanted to help him. At least in that situation. I knew, he would not follow me home by now, so I went home alone, but I returned quickly, to give him a blanket and a bottle of water, just in case he was thirsty. He wouldn't take it in front of my eyes, but I just left it there without saying another word and went back inside. A few moments later I found myself staring at the brown-haired boy through the window again, but this time he had a blanket covering his body. It made me smile a little.