Dominic Singleton


Growing up I never really knew what I wanted to be. Children at a young age have aspirations of being a firefighter, a police office, nurse or any other life altering profession because these are some of the most helpful model citizens in the world. They are idolized for their bravery and commitment to people each and every day. Career day for me was never as exciting because out of all these choices I could never make a decision. I knew that I wanted to help people, but I wanted to do it in my own special way.

I loved to read, but some time down the line it wasn’t enough for me anymore. My stories would be written in a “blue book” that had spaces for drawing above the writing lines. I never really bothered with them until one day that I wrote probably the most intense story of my life. There had to be an image for this type of creativity. I started to draw. Hours passed and I would always find myself coming back to the drawing regardless of what I was doing. After finishing my drawings, which felt like an eternity, I was proud to call it my own. From then on I would plan out my stories in a series of sketches. Drawing got me more excited to start fictional writings.

My sisters, at the time, were both into the arts. My oldest sister loved to write poetry. My other sister was a hopeful artist. Many times I would find myself trying to incorporate their styles into my stories, but this was the first time that I ever realized how creativity differentiates between everyone. I wanted to better myself. I wanted to be the best artist that I could be.

As I got older I took art more seriously. During lunch time at school I would draw. Before gym class started I would pull out my sketch pad and create ideas. Any time that I could find I would take full advantage. I finally came to the realization that I not only wanted to be the best version of myself, but the only one my younger self would associate with on career day.