I had become weary with hurt as my eyes watered my bed and were consumed with much pain. My hurt heart wished I had never gotten admitted into my school as I picked up my pen to write what I felt an ideal school should be. I imagined a school free from punishments from wicked seniors and full of great friends. I cried as I wrote. They say every man is born with a book in him. They say it takes a moment of extreme emotions to release the creativity, of which mine was released after serving a punishment meted out by Senior Sonia. A full book was born from that punishment. I penned down my thoughts and gradually they became a High school story my friends could not put down. My storybook was passed from one classmate to another. Senior Sonia must have been the midwife aiding the birth of a writer, for I can never begin my writing biography without reference to her. For that, I forgave her of all the unnecessary punishments and till this moment, my best comes when I am overwhelmed with emotions. My name is Oluwaseun Osanyinro, and this is my writing journey. Like a full tank, I poured out my thoughts into books at every slight opportunity and began titling my short stories. From a nameless story to ‘My life at 360’ to ‘Switched’, where I reunited lost twins, I had become a writer from the cradle. Yet, a full tank never refilled would finally run empty and mine ran dry in two years. I settled for writing the best stories in exercise books and emerging as the best in essays. Oh! How I remember those euphoric days! Days my English teacher would read my essays over and over again and wonder what I was doing in science class, my friends would argue over what they believed the next chapter should be and days I realized I am a lover of creative writing, particularly fiction. I remember being called out and applauded for writing heartfelt essays or analyzing literature books. I am sure this is how great authors like Wole Soyinka, Chimamanda Adiche and others began their lives. I basked in the euphoria of the little celebration but that was all. My tank was running out slowly but steadily. The only drop of water was my consistency. I wrote. On any little exercise book I found, and on pieces of paper. I may not have had a tank full of water but I did not abandon my tank. I, however, left my tank empty for years. The dark ages, I would call them. I always wondered where I would have been if I was trained from that very age. Maybe a Nobel Laureate or a World class author. Do not be amazed, I am a writer. I dream big. Maybe my dark age was also my fault as I viewed writing as a major distraction when I moved to attain a University degree. I was a Science student after all and we dealt more with numbers, names of body parts, animals and invisible microorganisms. No one wrote stories around me, no one read stories around me. Our focus was to achieve A’s, the first class and jobs in prospects. Then, writing was a pastime and an art student’s task. Fiction writing was not for serious students. As with a hand that is left forgotten, I soon forgot what writing was all about, save the snippets I wrote in a book somewhere. Yet a hand left forgotten for a while jerks back to function if taught its use again. Slow and steady. “You can start writing online”, my friend said to me one day. “I have seen so many people write on Facebook and get a lot of followers”, she continued. My life had moved from the naïve 13-year-old writing on any exercise book to a young woman about to test the waters of online writing. Life had moved digital. I must have laughed to cover my fear yet she persisted. “I am not sure about this”, I replied out of fear. “Who would read it?” I also asked. “People. You just write.” She not only convinced me to begin, but she also made sure I took the first step to train my forgotten hands to function once more. My life as a writer leapt for the first time in years as I opened my Facebook page and posted in 2019. My tank was about to be full again and has remained full because of friends who love to see me succeed. Every writer needs a friend who gives the external push towards greatness. One of the pillars of lasting long as a writer is to actually begin because of your passion for writing and not the benefits attached. The benefits might dance as fluctuating waves yet passion will keep one consistent. Write because you love to write, because you have stories to tell, because you want to impact lives and because you want posterity to remember you walked on earth. I had written despite the dancing waves of followers, likes and comments before I realized one could get a monetary benefit from writing. By the year 2020, I had planted, and my writing tree was already sprouting. I opened a blog on WordPress during the pandemic and it became my electronic paper. That was where I first launched my e-book called SMS (Save My Soul), a short story on the power of intercession and help. At this time, I gradually started gaining friends and followers that liked my genre and supported my work. My tank was getting full. As the cliché says “Garbage in, Garbage out”, I realized that I needed much more than training my hands to write. A full tank without knowledge creates a gaping hole that would drain all its contents. For me to be a great fiction writer which has always been my passion, I had to