why I write
The "why I write" prompt was quintessential to every creative writing class I took in school. All my professors were curious and the answers from me and the other students would range from the very mundane and cliche to bizarre and beautiful. I have written to this prompt dozens of times and it's been a while so in the spirit of nostalgia, here I go. Here I go because it's been exactly a decade since I've had to answer this question and somehow in that space of time I've managed to derail writing with every known artifice and distraction available to me. I blame work and lack of time. I blame lack of inspiration. I blame forgetfulness, my own wishy-washy nature, and even my inability to commit. It is a discipline thing and I'm lazy. Outwardly I tell myself and others that I deserve to be lazy about something, sometimes, but the reality is that these are all just weak excuses.
The real reason I haven't written in a decade? Fear. This is the kind of fear that creeps in and is heavy. Most don't even recognize it as fear because it is so good at masquerading as other feelings. But yes, fear. Fear of the blank space. Fear of the expectation from who? Myself? Others who know that "writing is your thing?" It's a disastrous fear, destroying what has yet to be built by holding hostage the intent, the creative inclination always snuffed out before having a moments chance to catch up.
So here. I'm writing today. I'm writing today because I don't want to start each entry in digital form or in my paper journals with, "It's been a long time..." or "I should write more..." No more. No more. No more.
My goal is to write unapologetically, write what I know, write it mistakes and all, write it, type it, capture it before it all disappears because I can. And write it so I don't give myself a chance to regret not capturing it. I will try my best to avoid the delete button because the delete button is part of the problem. It is part of comfort I've indulged in for the last decade by not writing. By not being true to myself. Deep down, I do feel like I'm supposed to put pen to paper, put digital ink to digital spaces. I'm supposed to make stuff that will get people to react, and I need to get over the fear of people reacting badly, or not reacting at all. Fuck them. Fuck the fear.
So I'm ready to take on this prompt again.
"Why I Write"
I write today because I'm trying to conquer myself. I'm trying to defeat the slow Goliath of time that I've been shielding myself with because it is comforting to say I don't write because I'm so busy and then use that as a reason why I'm not putting anything out in the world. No more. I write because I'm getting myself prepped for battle, arming myself with the words that have been stirring aimlessly for years now. There's pressure. There's a cause, and I need to give myself a chance to voice these concerns, to grant myself a literary revolution. Sometimes you need to burn things to the ground before you can rebuild it and I need so desperately to start again. I need to torch this monument to sloth that houses my fear so I can see what may be left.
Part of me is afraid there isn't anything, but I have to reaffirm the message to myself. I write because I need to undo my own foundations, break things down so I can figure out how to piece it together in a way that I can understand. There's no understanding myself otherwise and I refuse to be lost.
I spend so much of my life apologizing for things that are outside of my control because I am so full of guilt and some dumb idea that I need to be Atlas, all that weight. I don't want to be a martyr. I don't want to be anything but myself and that's also the other fear.
What if I don't like who I end up being, or rather discover myself being? What if I don't measure up to that ridiculous version of myself I've been imagining since childhood and now is even more monstrous with the expectations from others around me?
I am not superwoman. I am not meant to be. I don't want to be. I'm not sure what I want to be, but I can say I don't want to be that.
I write so I can put down that burden.
The real reason I haven't written in a decade? Fear. This is the kind of fear that creeps in and is heavy. Most don't even recognize it as fear because it is so good at masquerading as other feelings. But yes, fear. Fear of the blank space. Fear of the expectation from who? Myself? Others who know that "writing is your thing?" It's a disastrous fear, destroying what has yet to be built by holding hostage the intent, the creative inclination always snuffed out before having a moments chance to catch up.
So here. I'm writing today. I'm writing today because I don't want to start each entry in digital form or in my paper journals with, "It's been a long time..." or "I should write more..." No more. No more. No more.
My goal is to write unapologetically, write what I know, write it mistakes and all, write it, type it, capture it before it all disappears because I can. And write it so I don't give myself a chance to regret not capturing it. I will try my best to avoid the delete button because the delete button is part of the problem. It is part of comfort I've indulged in for the last decade by not writing. By not being true to myself. Deep down, I do feel like I'm supposed to put pen to paper, put digital ink to digital spaces. I'm supposed to make stuff that will get people to react, and I need to get over the fear of people reacting badly, or not reacting at all. Fuck them. Fuck the fear.
So I'm ready to take on this prompt again.
"Why I Write"
I write today because I'm trying to conquer myself. I'm trying to defeat the slow Goliath of time that I've been shielding myself with because it is comforting to say I don't write because I'm so busy and then use that as a reason why I'm not putting anything out in the world. No more. I write because I'm getting myself prepped for battle, arming myself with the words that have been stirring aimlessly for years now. There's pressure. There's a cause, and I need to give myself a chance to voice these concerns, to grant myself a literary revolution. Sometimes you need to burn things to the ground before you can rebuild it and I need so desperately to start again. I need to torch this monument to sloth that houses my fear so I can see what may be left.
Part of me is afraid there isn't anything, but I have to reaffirm the message to myself. I write because I need to undo my own foundations, break things down so I can figure out how to piece it together in a way that I can understand. There's no understanding myself otherwise and I refuse to be lost.
I spend so much of my life apologizing for things that are outside of my control because I am so full of guilt and some dumb idea that I need to be Atlas, all that weight. I don't want to be a martyr. I don't want to be anything but myself and that's also the other fear.
What if I don't like who I end up being, or rather discover myself being? What if I don't measure up to that ridiculous version of myself I've been imagining since childhood and now is even more monstrous with the expectations from others around me?
I am not superwoman. I am not meant to be. I don't want to be. I'm not sure what I want to be, but I can say I don't want to be that.
I write so I can put down that burden.