my dreams remind me of an ocean

I wrote this essay for a writing contest that Scholastic was holding based off of Libba Bray’s new book, Beauty Queens (which was awesome, by the way.) The prompt asked to explain why you’re a beauty queen, which in the novel means fighting for what you believe in and being true to yourself.

First off, full disclosure: by conventional standards, I’m no beauty queen. The one time I tried a fad diet, I was ready to gnaw my arm off by Day 3; I almost get altitude sickness every time I put on a pair of high heels; and I still haven’t figured out how to apply eyeliner without making myself look like a raccoon.

However, when it comes to working to achieve my dreams, I’ve got that covered. Ever since first grade, I’ve wanted to become a writer more than anything else. I was the kid who created makeshift storybooks and acted out soap opera storylines with My Little Ponies. As I grew older, I moved to working on a series of short stories about talking dogs and probably wrote enough bad Harry Potter fan fiction to wallpaper the Sistine Chapel.

Now, as an eighteen-year-old, I throw myself into every writing opportunity I can find. As a result, I was the managing editor for my school newspaper last year, and am currently a writer for Sweet Designs, an online magazine for teen girls. I attended a writing workshop at Michigan State University last summer, have participated in the Office of Letters and Light’s National Novel Writing Month challenge for the last four Novembers and penned many of the lyrics on my band’s debut CD over the course of six months. And that’s not even counting the secret stash of fiction that the light of day has never seen.

So when I chose my college this year, I took a chance and chose a writing school in Boston. In August, I’ll be moving from Suburbia, Michigan to a huge city where I will be pursuing what is widely considered an “impractical” major. Everyone, including my parents, think I’m pretty much insane. However, I have this nagging feeling that I’m capable of writing something that will have a positive impact on someone like so many books have had on me. I just can’t let that dream go without knowing I tried my absolute hardest to make it happen.

So although I think those yellow feather hair extensions look stupid and I think I’ll be able to squeeze into a pair of size 0 jeans somewhere in the near, well, never, I like to think that my mind, my intentions and my dreams are beautiful. And no matter what any fashion magazine or judging panel says, at least in some way, I think that makes me beautiful too.

If I owned a gas station
I wouldn’t paint over
Sharpies on the bathroom stalls

Because as much as I hate
Reading about drugs
And knowing who to call for a good time

If you look past the crudeness
And open your mind
The world is stripped down to brutal honesty

And I’ve always wanted
To be the one
Who thinks of something beautiful to put there