# data[].attributes.body
There was no moment I discovered my niche. I have been drawing since I was two years old. I remember going to day care and drawing all day long. I would sit silently in the empty art nook, producing (ugly) drawing after drawing. I went to an art class but it was pretty bad. They didn't teach us techniques or anything, so in third grade, I went to Ms. Svetlana's art class. It was a lot better, though I still didn't learn any techniques. I am now investing a lot of time into art. At least and hour and a half every day. I no longer go to art class, so I am mostly self-taught. I am very flexible with mediums, however I prefer watercolor, pens, alcohol markers, and recently, graphic design. I have attached a digital drawing here.
Another niche I have is writing. Every Wednesday I take essay writing classes. I especially like writing criticisms of books. I have found the three most common mistakes:

Dropping the conflict and picking it up again (Shakespeare made this mistake in Twelfth Night)

Doing a complete character 180. It just doesn't make sense

Adding some strange unnecessary element (animal main character, magic, weird side plot) to pander to children. This is found in Turtles All the Way Down with the weird side plot.

I have a blog where I post about every week.

# data[].attributes.body
It was 3rd grade. We were the oldest grade in the school. All year long, we were bouncing with excitement at the prospect of a graduation pool party. There was going to be ice cream, a large pool, and a day full of fun and frolic as the other grades looked on, envious. So obviously we started rioting when they told us the pool party was cancelled.
It was sometime before the pool party. Everything was normal. Except the pool behind the school. As the carpoolers looked out the window There was a tarp covering part of the pool. The uncovered half revealed an empty pool, with some of the bottom upended. The lane separations had peen peeled up and raveled into large blue and red spools. Metal beams stretched across the entire area. It was an eyesore. The whole day, the only thing we discussed was the pool. The pool party was coming soon and what if the pool wouldn't return to normal? We started turning to the teachers. They weren't helpful; our cries of woe and concern were met with a blunt "The pool is being fixed." Our days were now filled with great panic. When it was announced that we would not be doing a pool party and instead a dumb bowling alley trip, we were livid.
"This is so stupid, why can't they just find another pool in Vestavia, there are so many pools here anyway!"
"Bowling alley vs. pool. LAME!"
"Let's make a petition!"
Nobody made a petition. Nobody did anything. The end of the year came. We were carted off to a tiny building and were forced to bowl. It was so boring. Especially since most of my friends and I hated bowling. When we got up to stand in a hall, we were shoved backed to the bowling alleys. It was also raining and cold. I'm still bitter.

# data[].attributes.body
The tire swing creaks loudly as we fling ourselves back and forth across it. The bark beneath us blurs as the speed increases. Two of us are sitting on the swing, me and Amelia. Trinity and Isabel take turns pushing us.
"Wait Isabel, can you move out the way, I want to try something."
She does so, her pink shirt quickly moving across my vision as she backs away. I take a deep breath, scoot to the edge of the swing and as my side tilts up into a climax, I jump from the swing, flying through the air majestically and

. . .

straight into a face-plant.
My friends stare at me silently.
"Is she-"
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO! THAT WAS AWESOME!" I yell, sitting up. I shake bark out of my jacket, heart still racing from the airborne sensation.

# data[].attributes.body
The sound of pebbles grinding and spraying fills my ears. Houses and fences and trees whiz past. Next to me, my cousins, Danika and Jocelyn, whoop. We are flying down a hill. We are flying down a hill on bikes.
We hit the brakes as we approach the exits of the neighborhood. There are no cars. We pedal furiously until we are safely traveling along the sidewalk. Saggy vines whipped us constantly. After 5 minutes, we reached a middle school. As we biked into the parking lot, clouds of red dust rolled up into our faces. Eventually, a track materialized. We rode around it several times until our parents came with my cousins' dog, Bano. Bano chased us several times before giving in and lying in the shade.

# data[].attributes.body
Towering rocks stacked precariously against each other so impossibly it couldn't have been natural. Clear bluish water washes at the shorelines. Blinding white sand stretches over the entire island. Bright swimsuits occasionally dot the shorelines. This was Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands. This is what we saw as the ferry bounced towards our destination.
I wince as the salty sea sprays me. The ferry sliced waves in two, charging forward. The sun was warm but I was sitting in the shade. Finally we docked. After disembarking we got onto a bright red car-like vehicle. It shook as the wheels hit ruts in the road. Eventually we stumbled off after rattling up a hill. There was a vibrant blue and white wood building. A sign next to it said, "MAD DOG CAFE". We got lemonades there. A chicken strutted by outside with her children. I stared at the giant rocks by the sea. Their rough surface glimmers with minerals.

# data[].attributes.body
Oceans waves wash up against shores of golden sand. A lighthouse stretches up from atop a hill. It's bright white walls shine in the golden sunlight. Bushes scattered the hill in the shadows of the lighthouse. Blue sky sweeps the horizon. Feathery clouds dance around in the sky. A single bird flies by the cloud. It is frozen in a stroke of dark brown paint. The waves were frozen in paint. The bushes were swayed permanently to the left; they too were painted. This was the painting that would permanently be on display at Dolly Ridge Elementary, along with others.
One day, during morning work, I was called along with another boy to the multi-purpose room. As we walked there, apprehensive and confused, we met others headed in the same direction. They informed us that our art had been chosen to be permanently displayed at the school. When we arrived, we were greeted by a room full of parents. Mine weren't there, they probably had a meeting that morning. We sat down in wobbly high chairs. The parents and Dr. Arendall spoke. I didn't pay attention, but instead stared out the window. It was raining. Then they started bringing out the paintings. There was a galaxy, a colorful canvas that said School Rules and a mountain towering above a lake. Then there was my painting. We took a picture with Dr. Arendall and that was it. When we got back to the classroom, everyone asked if I "won". I informed then that it wasn't a competition. However, I hope to have the opportunity to participate in real competitions.

# data[].attributes.body
I don't like failing. Nobody does. It's an awful feeling, the moment you realize that you didn't do well. Like your breath lodges in your throat and needles of fear stab at your heart. That feeling. The same feeling I felt when I got back my science paper and realized I had made the most idiotic, harebrained mistake ever.
The classroom was humming. Nobody was talking, but outside, a class of kids walked by.
"Shhh," the teacher said. She was ignored.
The people outside kept talking. Their colorful shirts were reflected in the polished tiles, streaks of red and pink and blue sliding under our door. They left after a while. I heard the janitor stop outside our door for a minute. He left too. I stared down at my test paper. One problem left.
20. What is a primary consumer and what is a secondary consumer?
I studied so hard but I can't remember! One is a carnivore, and one is not. That's all I know! Wait... Maybe there's a way to get around this. I smile. After 40 seconds of thinking I have my answer:
"One is a carnivore. The other is not." I cackle with delight. Maybe Mr. Pettway will fall for it. If he notices, I still might get extra points.
I was so wrong.
Immediately, there was something off. My score wasn't the expected 100. It was replaced by two fat 8's. I missed 3 questions! I flipped to question 20. In red pen, my teacher had written:

    "Which one is a predator and which one is not?"

So much for not noticing. I had become so bigheaded, I assumed my teacher was negligent enough to not notice! At least I got half credit for it.

# data[].attributes.body
It was happening. We had patiently waited and it was here. At first we grinned in anticipation. Then our smiles faded as we began to doubt the forecast. And then, just as we had started our math class, it happened.
"SNOOW!" someone screamed pointing towards the window.
"OH! OH! Let me see!"
"Ouch, someone stepped on my foot!"
"Sorry."
We shoved our frost-bitten, cherry red noses against the glass pane. Fabric brushing fabric, we winced as charges of static electricity jolted us. Our fingers jostled for space as we heaved the window open. The snow was beautiful. White flakes like petals, showering our heads, dampening our hair. I jumped as a snowflake landed in my eye, then laughed. Everyone else was laughing too.
"Do you think I should jump out the window?" someone asks.
"Don't jump out the window!" Our teacher frantically calls. "Come back guys, we still have a math lesson to finish!"
One kid shoves his head out the window and sticks his tongue out. Snowflakes disintegrate on his tongue.
"EW! That snow could have tons of germs on it!"
"Yummy."
The snow stopped. We stared out the window in utter astonishment. One minute, the snow was speeding up and it had just went out in half a second, as if someone had just cut a line or pushed a button. Good things never last.

# data[].attributes.body
The sky was cloudless that night. Weak moonlight wavered, barely breaking through the thick foliage. The familiar sounds of the creek were muffled; wrapped in wooly sounds of silence. The silence permeated  the air inside my bedroom too as I lay awake. It was long after I had first crawled beneath the covers. It was long since I had first begun to doze off but was woken by the sirens. It was long since the sirens had faded.
The door opens. I hear the sound that I have been hearing for my whole life; the sound of the oak wood door brushing the floor; the sound of the metal deadlatch scraping the doorframe. Only this time, the sound wasn't made by me. Whooosh goes the door as wind blows against the door. Light from the big hallway window crawls into my bedroom. I squeeze my eyes shut.
"It's fine, there's nothing there" I think.
Something thumps on the ground. Then another thump. It's getting closer. It's coming for me. Then it stops. I bury my head under the covers, mustering courage. I stay there for a long time. Without realizing, I'm asleep.
Light pours in through my blue curtains. I'm alive. I wasn't murdered by some shadow creature in the middle of the night. As I step out of bed, my foot lands on my bouncy ball. It was still on my counter last night. I walk into the hallway and close my bedroom door. But it doesn't close. I inspect the crevice in which the deadlatch usually resides. There is dried hot glue inside. The space is too small for the deadlatch. The door was broken! I laugh. The door must have come undone when the AC turned on, and the clunky doorknob hit the  ball, causing the bouncy ball to roll off  the table and bounce on the floor. Now that I thought about it, I didn't see anything, and we had a security system that would have been triggered if someone came in the house. Imagination flourishes in the dark.

# data[].attributes.body
Dark eyes, eczema prone skin, shiny black tendrils of hair curling down past her shoulders, Veronica was plain appearance-wise. Her favorite thing to do was to listen to Hamilton and SIX while painting or drawing. She painted for hours past her bedtime each night, brushstroke after brushstroke until her mom finally pestered her to bed. She loved watercolors. She loved the sound of painter's tape as she peeled it off the roll and taped her paper to the table. She loved the sound of water running as she filled up a disposable cup to clean her brushes in. She loved the sound of the paper towel splitting from the roll as she peeled it off. She loved the sound of the Hamilton cast's voices as she mixed pigments. She loved the wispy tendrils of color as it spread across the paper and the tiny brush that dabbled watercolor pigment into crevices. She loved the feeling of crawling under the fluffy blue comforter and falling into the obscure realm of sleep.