I realised today that I’m a want to be writer, who doesn’t write. My entire life I’ve been told that I have “natural abilities”. But what am I really basing my dreams on? A few highly marked high school English essays that no one cares about?
It seems premature to say that I want to follow a career in writing. And it seems like the easy choice. Because if I don’t want to write, what else can I do? Maybe I do need to write, I just don’t have anything to say. I haven’t had any experiences, or I just want to avoid sounding whiney.
Either way, when your boss asks you to write a blog post and you struggle- no, flail- you have to ask yourself: is this for me? I’ve kept this Tumblr going for what, 4 years, and it’s 95% images and only 5% thoughts.
I see writers online who thrive in what they do. They write. And they write important things. They express their inner thoughts and feelings in a way that doesn’t sound cheesy or forced, but instead it flows as if you were listening to their mind.
I think that I’ve mostly become lazy. In school, and now university, writing is a task, a job. So I’ve come to view it as something that just gets done when I have an assignment due. I haven’t seen it as a skill that needs to be practised and perfected. I didn’t see it as evolving. That was a big mistake.
Even if it’s just rambling, like right now, the mere familiarity of fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard enlightens me to why I wanted to be a writer: because it comes naturally.
My failure of a blog post last week was not natural, it was forced. I was out of practice, out of rhythm and out of sync with my thoughts. Maybe this is just an excuse. Maybe I’m one of those cliché coffee shop frequents who can only express themselves when wearing black and sipping coffee. Either way, it’s something I want to explore, and something that I don’t want to give up on. Not just yet.
The purpose of this post is to find rhythm. To find my voice. Because if I can secure that, the rest will follow…