Brittany Scott

Maybe I was born to retell stories. Since the beginning of my life, I remember being told stories—stories that I naturally grew anxious to retell. I was told stories about how funny I was, about how dramatic I was, about how I was absolutely in love with sports. I heard the stories over and over again. Sooner or later these retellings became apart of me until I grew to be humorous, dramatic, and a sports fanatic. However, there was one story I was never told—that is how I became a writer. I guess that maybe one day I grew so fixed in the idea of telling stories that I began aspiring to build a life out of it. If there is one thing I know from listening to stories from my family, from reading, and from writing, it is that stories are what keep us sane. The thin line between imagination and reality, the depth of diving wholly into either one of the genres is what brings sanity out of this sometimes horribly boring, sometimes horribly stressing, and sometimes horribly horrible life we live. And when it comes to the story of my life, it is complicated and full of incongruities. It is wholly encompassed by the fictional and factual at the same time. Thus, I can admit that even as a writer, I still have not learned how to retell the story of my life.