People say I am a good writer.
That my words could draw pictures. They are vivid and colourful and is easy to follow along. My reader senses the happiness, they sense the grief or whatever the mood is of my words. They get into my head as I get into their hearts. A bridge is built. Of Connections. Of deep involvement and reckoning.
Although I present myself as an extrovert to the world, Inward I am nothing but an introvert. I don’t open up easily and I never let my guard down. I might appear to be rude to folks I am close to for keeping to myself this way but some bridges can never be crossed, and I have a few of them that are pretty much untrodden and uninhibited.
Funny thing is, I have never considered myself as a good writer. Even a “writer” at that. I write because one, like it or not, I am a blogger and writing is my business and side hustle. And two, I just don’t know who I would have been or end up to be eventually if I DIDN’T write. With the flow of years and In between the realms, writing to me turned out to be a chore. Yes, it is incredible when I spell it out here coz it is the first time I am even analyzing my need to write.
Why do I write? I mean, why? Am I the biggest hypocrite or what for disclosing that writing is a baggage to carry around for necessity? A love-hate relationship, maybe?
This baggage is so important to me because, without it, I turn into ashes instantly. And I know I could never rise. I am no Phoenix without my ability to write.
Writing defines me, gives me purpose. It tells me, tomorrow will be better. I could hang on and dare to dream. I could feel and sense without dread. There is a reprieve from the pain I bear. There is closure just a few words away. And man! Don’t I flutter inside with the urge to rise above the dark and see beyond all the sadness that is just too overwhelming some days?
What Makes and Breaks a Good Writer?
Writing gives me hope. Yes, it does. And mind you, nothing that is present in my life comes close to giving me hope. At times, I seek after my laptop like a drug addict going after her fix. I just need something, anything to choke those words out, so breathing becomes easy. Pleasurable even.
The question now is… am I using my writing to stay sane or are THEY using me as a puppet for their entertainment? Do I want an answer? I mean, this ‘partnership’ has worked for years. I got something out of writing after all, isn’t it? And I am sure, the writer in me is not complaining either. It is just that sometimes I feel writing has left me barren. It has sucked the life out of me and I hate to be the one to go after it again and again to get my fix. For my sanity.
Like I said in the beginning. It is funny people think of me as a good writer. If only they know the struggle I face daily beneath it all…
I don’t even know why I decided to write about writing today. I knew from the start that this piece was a lost cause. Rambling, nothing short of gibberish which is not going to give you, my reader, a meaningful insight or a helpful tutorial on how to write. I don’t blame you for thinking this time that my words are not vivid or colorful and set up to provide some sort of advice worth following like the rest of the posts on this blog. I am sorry I wasted your time. This is no DIY or any helpful tip. This is not a cornerstone article that is born to go viral.
What is this instead? A peek into the true soul of a writer who is burdened by words, life and lies.
Do you write? Why?
P:S: Although this post was useless if you were looking for writing tips, see below for previous posts on the topic that you may find helpful!