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I felt recognized as worthy, in that moment. As though I would soon be formidable competition for those authors that I'd so admired. The notice came that Hellion would be published, although my request to be identified by my pen name would be ignored as Hellion by Hellion (am I over using the word "hellion" at this point?) was deemed too confusing for readers. I felt light and powerful, like my words held such strength that the publishers couldn't help but bend to their will. I felt the corners of my mouth reach for my ears and I couldn't help but release a piercing squeal of joy when I received the news.
My story had been entered to be published in a YA magazine, against my will mind you, by my teacher who'd deemed herself my manager/editor. As Ms. B blinded me with her toothy grin, I realized that she and my classmates and my family and everyone else who'd tried to convince me of what I thought was impossible were all right, I truly did have a talent for writing. From that moment on I decided I was no longer going to waste this amazing (or so they tell me) ability of mine, that was the day, I began writing my novel, and my musical and another short story and some poetry. But mostly my novel. (Okay maybe not mostly, but I'm trying here.)
I guess, my interest in writing must come from my mother. She's always working on some music or poetry or short story or something to regale and enthrall me and my siblings. Her musical talents have been wasted on understated tracks that you've never heard of and singing me to sleep, or just singing in the shower. That being said, I shouldn't leave out my dad. He writes music, which is why I relate to him more to my eclectic love of music instead of my love for writing. It would, though, be rude to exclude his lyricism from my list of inspirations. Not to mention his off the cuff bedtime stories. I used to beg for the exciting oddities every night. While both of my parents (side note: they are separated, but I hear divorce can serve as great inspiration) established my love for writing, my motivation was ensued entirely by my older sister.
My sister has wanted to be a writer since the ripe, young age of four. She published her first ever book five years ago, a YA novel titled What Had Happened Was. From the moment the physical copy of her book was in my hand on, I have been writing. And, I don't mean to sound petty, but I've been doing it to beat her at her own game. We have been very competitive since childhood and that part of me has lasted 19 years and will most likely continue to grow stronger with time.
As far as my writing style and influencers go, most of my works are usually horrific and unnerving. I try to write light whimsical tales, but where's the fun in that? Some of my inspirations are Chuck Palahniuk, Don DeLillo, Stephen King, and Ray Bradbury. I could go on forever, but there's a word limit on this site.
The reasons really don't matter, though. Who cares about the who and the why, when the what and how are so much more intriguing.
I'm what you'd call a struggling artist: struggling to make art. I face all the problems any other "up and coming" author would, the difference is I wrote a blog about it. Well, that and the pen name.
The reasons for are practically countless at this point. As are the reasons I chose the specific name Hellion. It holds a lot of meaning for me. You can take it as satanic if you please, but that is not the connotation it holds for me.
Anyhow, we'll get to that later, because trust me, this isn't the last you'll hear of me.