The Art of Creative Writing: Voice, Strategy, and a Little 80s Magic

If painting is my love, writing is my language.

Let’s start here: creative writing is not about being fancy. It’s about being fearless.

Creative writing is where language loosens its collar, kicks off its sensible shoes, and says, we’re not here to behave — we’re here to become.

It’s storytelling.
It’s structure with swagger.
It’s rhythm with restraint.
It’s wordplay with a pulse.

It’s saying something straight — sideways.

It’s knowing when to hold the line… and when to cross it out.

And sometimes?

It’s writing your college essay backwards.

Yes. Backwards.

A Brilliant, Risky, Backwards Essay

In my “real” job, I consult students and parents through the college admissions process — essays, applications, scholarships, financial literacy, financial options. I live at the intersection of ambition and anxiety. Where numbers meet narrative. Where spreadsheets meet storytelling. Where pressure meets potential.

One student stands out.

Brilliant. Analytical. Insightful. Dyslexic.

Instead of fighting how her brain worked, she framed it. Instead of hiding it, she highlighted it. She wrote her essay backwards — starting with the ending and walking the reader toward the beginning.

Creative? Yes.
Risky? Also yes.
Strategic? Absolutely.

It wasn’t a stunt. It was structure with purpose.

She wasn’t trying to shock the admissions officer. She was showing them how she thinks. She trusted her voice. She trusted her reader. And in the quiet words of an admissions cycle that often feels overwhelming, she essentially said:

Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear.

And they did.

Because sometimes you have to decide that you’re living on a prayer — and then write like you mean it.

So What Is Creative Writing?

Creative writing is intention wearing imagination.

It’s not just what you say.
It’s where you place it.
It’s when you pause.
It’s how you pivot.

It’s understanding that:

“I had a hard year.”

is information.

But:

“The year rearranged me.”

is transformation.

Creative writing rearranges.

It rearranges sentences.
It rearranges expectations.
It rearranges the reader.

It’s a kind of controlled chaos — we were young, heartache to heartache we stand — except instead of heartache, it’s paragraphs lining up to say something braver than they intended.

Creative writing is resonance over reporting.
Voice over vocabulary.
Courage over correctness.

Sometimes it whispers, Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? — and then answers the question in a way only you can.

Sometimes it declares, with complete confidence, I’m still standing — and dares the reader to keep going.

Sometimes it reminds you, quietly but confidently: Don’t you forget about me.

I’ve Always Loved Words

When I was little, I told my grandmother I wanted to be a writer.

She probably imagined a typewriter. A desk. A quiet room.

No one could have dreamed what writing would look like now — blogs, digital platforms, AI tools, essays that travel farther in minutes than a letter once did in weeks.

But here’s the truth:

Writing is the easiest thing I do.

It flows. It shows up. It hums beneath my everyday conversations. I can’t help it — I still haven’t found what I’m looking for… except I have. It was language all along.

People are always asking me about my writing.

“How do you do it?”
“How does it come so easily?”
“How do you always know what to say?”

I’d say, it’s like anything else.

Practice, practice, practice.

You don’t get rhythm without repetition.
You don’t get voice without volume.
You don’t get confidence without drafts.

Draft. There’s a word for you.

A draft is wind.
A draft is a version.
A draft is money.
A draft is movement.

Creative writing is knowing which draft you’re talking about — and letting it carry you.

And sometimes, you just have to turn and face the strange… changes.

Puns, Double Meanings, and Strategic Mischief

I love puns.

I love double entendres.

I love a sentence that means two things at once and neither by accident.

Give me words like:

• Interest (financial and personal)

• Current (electric and emotional)

• Major (academic and life-shifting)

• Margin (paper and breathing room)

• Yield (traffic sign and harvest)

In my world — college admissions and financial literacy — the double meanings practically introduce themselves.

Students “apply” pressure and applications.
Families calculate “returns” on investment and emotional investment.
We talk about “principal” decisions and principals in schools.

Language is layered. The best writers know when to peel it back — and when to let it shimmer.

Sometimes creative writing is simply saying:

The plan collapsed. I didn’t.

That’s structure.
That’s placement.
That’s power.

Hide a Surprise in Plain Sight

And this is where I have to tell you something about my childhood.

I loved Highlights magazine.

My favorite page wasn’t the stories.

It was the hidden pictures.

I would study that page like it held the secrets of the universe — circling the tiny toothbrush in the tree bark, the thimble tucked into a curtain fold, the spoon disguised as part of a lamp.

That’s what this blog post is.

A hidden picture page for grown-ups.

I’ve tucked little things into it.
Familiar phrases.
Echoes from another decade.
Lines that might make you hum before you realize why.

Creative writing is often less about announcing brilliance and more about hiding brilliance — and trusting someone to find it.

It’s a literary scavenger hunt.

It’s finding the song inside the sentence.

It’s realizing halfway through that you’ve been smiling because something feels familiar — even if you can’t quite name it.

You might even catch yourself thinking:

Whoa, we’re halfway there.

And that’s when you know you’ve found one.

Creative Writing in College Essays

Here’s what I remind my students:

Creative does not mean confusing.
Creative does not mean chaotic.
Creative does not mean gimmicky.

Creative means controlled risk.

It means knowing your audience.
It means clarity inside creativity.
It means saying, “This is how my mind works — and it works beautifully.”

That dyslexic student didn’t just flip her essay. She flipped the narrative about herself.

She didn’t fight her wiring. She showcased it.

She didn’t let the system define her. She rewrote it.

And if that isn’t a little bit of We’re not gonna take it, I don’t know what is.

In the Age of AI

We live in a world where technology can generate words in seconds.

But voice? That still belongs to you.

Your rhythm.
Your experience.
Your humor.
Your grandmother’s kitchen.
Your student’s backwards essay.

Technology can assemble sentences.

It cannot live your life.

It cannot remember the smell of your childhood magazine pages.
It cannot circle hidden objects with a pencil.
It cannot feel the quiet thrill of recognizing a lyric disguised as prose.

That’s your territory.

That’s your pen.

One More Thing (Because I Can’t Help Myself)

Here’s what I’ve learned after years of helping students craft essays and families craft futures:

Creative writing isn’t about sounding smart.

It’s about sounding like yourself.

In a world that scrolls quickly, reacts instantly, and measures everything in clicks and conversions, creative writing is an act of attention.

It slows you down.

It asks you to choose the right word instead of the fastest one.

It invites you to mean what you say — and say what you mean.

When I work with students, I’m not just helping them get into college.

I’m helping them articulate who they are.

That’s bigger than an application.

That’s identity work.
That’s confidence work.
That’s legacy work.

Because when a student realizes:

“My story is interesting.”
“My mind is powerful.”
“My voice matters.”

That doesn’t end at admissions.

That follows them into boardrooms.
Into classrooms.
Into marriages.
Into leadership.

Creative writing teaches you that you can shape a narrative instead of being shaped by one.

It teaches you that even if life throws you a curveball — you can turn and face the strange.

It teaches you that even when something feels impossible — you might just be halfway there.

It teaches you that you don’t have to be louder.

You have to be truer.

And maybe that’s why writing has always been the easiest thing I do.

Because it’s the most honest thing I do.

And maybe that’s why I loved that hidden-picture page in Highlights so much.

Because it trained my eye to look closer.

To notice what others missed.

To believe that there was always more beneath the surface.

That’s what creative writing is.

Looking closer.

Finding what’s hidden.

Circling it.

And saying:

“There you are.”

The Reveal

Yes.

There are 80s lyrics woven through this piece.

Hidden like the tiny umbrella in the corner of a Highlights illustration.

Some obvious.
Some subtle.
Some dressed up in new punctuation.

That’s creative writing.

It’s hiding meaning in plain sight.
It’s layering sound inside sense.
It’s trusting your reader to find the toothbrush in the tree bark.

And if you didn’t catch them all?

That’s okay.

Go back. Circle them.

Practice, practice, practice.

Because writing — like hidden pictures and harmony lines — gets better the more you look for it.

And the more you look for it…

The more you find.

Don’t stop believin’.
Just start writing.