My Writing Journey
Like many writers, I grew up surrounded by books. But I never thought I’d actually become a writer myself. Writing always felt like something other people did—until it became my escape.
I was raised in a family of nerdy book lovers, and stories were everywhere. What was my first book? I can’t say for sure, because ever since I had awareness, I had a collection. Saturdays were sacred bookstore days in my family. I was allowed to buy as many books as I wanted, with one rule: I had to actually read them.
I was fascinated by books like The Day the Clocks Stood Still, which I had to rely on others to read and translate for me. I devoured Menina do Mar, Fada Oriana, and A Floresta by Sophia de Mello Breyner. But books weren’t my only obsession—video games were just as important. They shaped my imagination, feeding the worlds I would later create in my own writing.
Writing was always there, watching me fall in love with all my other hobbies.
How a Cruel Teacher Tried to Silence My Writing—And Failed
If you’re wondering whether there was a defining moment when I knew I wanted to be a writer, I have to say… there wasn’t. My friends and family might say I always wanted to write, or that I had talent, but I didn’t feel that way at the time. I wasn’t born with a “gift.” Sure, I loved stories, but finding my writing voice was far from easy. School didn’t teach me much about storytelling—if anything, it made writing a source of deep insecurity.
In elementary school, I remember being excited about creative writing, imagining entire worlds. One time, I wrote about a dream where a fairy took me on an adventure around the world. I described the scent of blooming roses, the warmth of the sun, the magic of flying. But my 4th-grade teacher’s response? A note in red ink: “Spineless and vague.” My cheeks burned as I stared at my feet after reading it out loud to the class. That moment planted a seed—not of creativity, but of doubt.
For a long time, I let that doubt grow. Our education system—like today—focused more on what was wrong than how we could improve. It reduced us to GPAs, numbers, and test scores, dulling the spark of creativity in children. But writing isn’t about following rigid structures or earning perfect scores. It’s about risk—it’s stepping off a ledge into the unknown, diving deep into imagination. And when you return from that dive, whether from a fictional world or your own emotions, it’s like catching your breath after being underwater.
That feeling—the rush of bringing a story to life—is what pulled me back to writing, even after that teacher’s words tried to convince me otherwise. And, truth be told, that wasn’t even the cruelest thing she did to me.
Comedy and Journalism: Exploring Different Paths
During my teenage years, humor became my greatest coping mechanism, and to this day, I laugh in the face of adversity. Not by consuming comedy, but by creating it. I even created a blog where I shared humorous critiques and opinions. Some of those articles were eventually published in O Algarve, a local newspaper that, unfortunately, no longer exists. Looking back, that blog taught me to find humor in everyday life and to share it boldly—although my mom did warn me not to burn bridges. “What if these journalists hire you one day? How are you going to face them?” she said. She had a point.
I also had a brief love affair with journalism. In high school, my classmates and I interviewed journalists from major public TV channels for a school project. I saw firsthand the struggle between truth, survival, and sensationalism. I knew then that this wasn’t the life I wanted. I didn’t want to chase stories—I wanted to create them.
How Writing Fiction Helped Me Find My Voice
When I was waiting for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to release, I was so restless that I opened a Word document and started writing my first story. It was, admittedly, Harry Potter fanfiction (even though I didn’t even know what that was at the time) where I inserted myself and my best friend into the story. I was so proud of that first chapter that I printed it out and gave it to her. She and her mom laughed at it. I was crushed, but I kept writing—only this time, I didn’t show anyone.
At 12, I started journaling. But my journal wasn’t just about me—I created a fictional character, Kelly, who lived through things I hadn’t yet. She felt more real to me than most people did. She had her own family, her own boyfriend, her own experiences, all documented in a black notebook filled with cut-out pictures from teen magazines. Through Kelly, I was writing the version of myself that I wasn’t brave enough to be.
At 16, a friend gifted me a short steampunk story for my birthday. I loved it so much, I started coming up with ideas for it faster than she could write. Eventually, I took over, and it became my first co-written passion project. That was when I realized—I didn’t just love stories. I loved creating them.
Why I Write: The Moment Everything Changed
Over the years, writing became my refuge. In 2009, I started writing my current work-in-progress, and no matter how chaotic life got—college, work, burnout—I always came back to it. Writing became the one thing that was mine.
But the real turning point came when I realized I wasn’t writing to prove anything to anyone anymore. I wasn’t afraid of not being “good enough” anymore. I stopped writing to impress. I started writing because it was the purest form of freedom I knew.
Writing is a right we take for granted—until it’s taken away. Imagine a world where reading, writing, or expressing yourself was forbidden. That thought alone is enough to make me write. Because writing isn’t just about telling stories—it’s about claiming your space in the world.
And that’s why I write. Not because I was “born a writer,” but because writing is rebellion. It’s escape. It’s connection.
What about you? What’s your writing journey? Let’s talk about it in the comments—I’d love to hear your story.
