Once upon a time, sophomore Andrea Cruz wrote five pages in about four hours.

In one night, with the moon as her only company, she forced her fingers to hit the keyboard in rapid succession.

The only sounds in her room past midnight were the soft humming of her computer and the occasional sharp sounds of typing.

She wrote about a fictional world that once existed only in her mind but now existed on the pages in front of her.

She wrote for the Literature Club.

She wrote to enter their contest.

And the deadline was the next day.

Cruz wrote with a sort of rhythm. She would write a few sentences, reread them, and then go back to rewrite what she had typed out just mere minutes ago. She would add words that held an extravagant aura and rethink what she was trying to say.

She would write.

And then write some more.

She loved the escape it brought.

She hated living in reality.

Maybe ‘hate’ was too strong of a word.

Maybe she was just disappointed by the predictable pattern that it had.

Reality was in shades of black and white, but her writing was vivid.

Her words were the color and her sentences were the different shades.

Her story was the painting that she created.

“You know when you hate how a book ends the way it ends so you’re going to rewrite your own ending?” said Cruz. “That’s why I do it. So I can write the ending the way I want.”

Although being an author is a risky career, Cruz holds the drive and determination that many lack. She is constantly filled with a swarm of thoughts that fuels what she writes. And she will not stop.

That night, in four hours, Cruz made the deadline for the contest.

The end.