On writing…. and a challenge to myself

Growing up, I couldn’t stop reading. I started reading around the age of four, first time I read Lord of the Rings I was 8 to 9 years old (took me a long ass time to finish that brick, and I still don’t think it’s very good). I held the writers that I loved with huge respect, they shaped me, they made me think things I had never considered before, brought me on adventures that I could never fathom, made me question myself, question my ethics, morals, basic way of thinking.

As is often common, what we love as children, and even later in life, we want to do. I wanted to share my words and change others as much as I had been changed, share my ideas, my thought experiments. I wasn’t sure how to do it though, I directed a couple films as a kid during middle and high school and enjoyed seeing my (often absurd) visions coming to life, I wrote for classes, I was creating. It wasn’t terribly good, but it was the only time in my life that I was actively creating, and even then, not very often, in fact, not often enough. For whatever reason, I wasn’t doing it for myself, even though I enjoyed it. Every time it would happen I would feel wonderful, then months would go by before it would happen again. As life continued, and I descended into depression, the months became years and when it happened, it was always for a scholastic reason, never for myself. Then, at one point, it just stopped. I didn’t need to do it, so I didn’t, story of my life.

The only things I would create past my teenage years were things for work, writing software, documents, and while I occasionally find a spot of satisfaction here and there from it, it never lasts long, it never had that transformative effect that it did when I was younger. Furthermore, as I got lost in my green fog, I stopped reading as well, I stopped feeling those feelings of wonder and enlightenment that had spurned me as a child. I could still feel it a bit from film, but after a while that faded as well, as did my searches for new and exciting music. Where I am now, music is the only thing that can still really grab me, and even then, it’s a fleeting feeling.

Even though the fog is finally behind me, I still have trouble reading, I find myself re-reading the books I did as a teen, only interested in the authors that I grew up with, and the odd times that I read, it’s done halfheartedly, remembering rather than reprocessing, searching for that feeling I had as a kid. More often than not, failing.

In the past few years, I’ve started creating again, but the only things I’ve actually created can be found here, on this blog. Has it been helpful?, yes, absolutely, but as anyone who has read here, it’s all personal stuff, stuff about me and my life. I enjoy writing, but I hold myself back, telling myself that the only new content that I can put into the world are from my own experiences. Why would I give my opinion on something that has already been written about by thousands of others?, I don’t want to be a me-too writer, but at the same time, I want to write.

I know that my words so far have touched people, I know that there are people out there who appreciate my style, my approach and view on things, and not just on the purely personal stuff which is definitely my forte, so why shouldn’t I share my thoughts?, why shouldn’t I write?.

Why do I keep holding myself back?…. enough of that

I read a lot of Stephen King growing up, and somewhere, I think in his book “On Writing”, he said something which has always stuck in my head. If you want to write, write, it doesn’t matter what you write about, just do it. You don’t get better at writing by thinking about it, or waiting until you have something to write about, you just write.

Paraphrasing of course, but that was the message that I got from it, and I’m sticking with it

So, with respect to Mr King, I’m putting forth a little challenge to myself. I’ve only ever written when the inspiration hit me, or when I felt I had something to write about. Too often, when I had something to say about something that occurred externaly as opposed to internally, I would hold myself back knowing that so many other writers out there are writing about the same thing, why bother adding my voice?. So, over the next eight weeks, I’ll be making a post per week. Some will be personal probably, it’s my comfort zone after all, but if there is nothing going on personally, or nothing I feel like discussing or exploring, I’ll write anyway. Don’t know what I’ll write about, trying my best not to worry or care about that, I’ll just write.

And this one doesn’t count


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